


Road Less Travelled

by K_iddo



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: F/M, Love, Psychological Trauma, Richard has some fun for once, Romance, Suicide mentions, War, Wish Fulfillment, but i wouldnt know a slow burn if it bit me in the impatient bum, i originally tagged this slow burn, will earn explicit rating eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10087787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_iddo/pseuds/K_iddo
Summary: Richard meets a rather successful writer at the Artemis Club and is taken with her in a way he never has before; most baffling to him is that she seems to feel the same way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the likelihood of anyone reading this is very slim, because I'm the dick who got into Boardwalk Empire three years after it finished, but I felt compelled to write this and I'll enjoy it at least.
> 
> I really liked Julia and Richard’s relationship and of course the whole thing broke my heart, but I just liked the idea creating an alternative, and giving him a little more romance and fun in his life, (also maybe a happy ending, I’m a sap).

It was one of those evenings where the heat of the summer was so relentless that even when, later than usual, the dark of the night drew in, there was no relief to be found. Ada had never enjoyed the heat, Illinois would certainly get hot in the summer, but nothing like the stifling humidity of the East Coast. 

Getting ready for yet another increasingly tiresome outing with Mary’s newest group of friends and admirers, Ada had to keep pausing to fan herself, stand by the thrown open window a moment and take in some kind of air, to avoid sweating off her makeup. Her bedroom was scented with assorted bowls of potpourri, one on each of the nightstands that flanked the bed, one on her vanity, another on the sill of the window. They little copper receptacles where lost though, in the midst of all the other assorted knickknacks and trinkets the woman could not bear to part with, often placed atop the cloth and leather-bound books stacked wherever there was free space. It was tidy though, well-kept, if certainly more cluttered then most would prefer.

Touching the curls piled atop her head, she examined her reflection with a breath. She always needed a moment, a long breath, to reassure herself that she could go out and be the person everyone expected her to be. As her mother had liked to remind her before her death, the Paris contingent, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, sold their books on their personal exploits more than the quality of their writing. 

“Why don’t you just write under a man’s name again? That sold well.” She mocked her mother aloud as she smudged the grey eyeshadow on her eyelid. Ada could practically see the woman now, standing in front of the stove, sloshing red wine on the floor. She missed her.  
 As she was pulling on her shoes, she heard the tring-tring of the telephone across the hall and rushed out of the bedroom and into her office across the hall, swearing under her breath. 

“Yes?” She answered, and was met with the telltale background ruckus of Saturday night on the boardwalk.

“Ada sweetheart your phone manners are still terrible!” Mary said on the other end of the line, too loud, already drunk. “We’re going to have to make a lady out of you some day!”

“Did you call me for a reason? I’m on my way to you this moment.” Ada replied with a sigh. 

“Change of plans, we’re going to Franklin’s latest party, you know Franklin-” Ada didn’t. “He’s renting out a whole cathouse, should be delightfully filthy affair you must come!” 

“That’s risqué even for you heathens.”

Mary’s laugh stung her ear somewhat.

“I can’t pay for this call much longer, but you’re coming. It’s a classy place, like the ones in France, or so Franklin is trying to convince us. It’s called the Artemis Club, get a cab.” 

Her friend hung up before she had chance to tell her she would walk; Ada had a good idea of where the place was, and it was not to far from her house. Walking quietly to these gatherings, taking in the sea air and the more distant sounds of laughter, and watching the drunk groups cling to each other and stagger by. It inspired her, she would think of some of the loveliest prose that had ever occurred to her, and then she would meet Mary, and drink all night and forget it all.

It was still hot, but she took the route along the boardwalk to take in the lights and merriment and so the sea air provided some semblance of breeze over the bare skin of her thighs and legs. Lucky it was night, because the length of this particular black beaded number would definitely get her into trouble in the daylight. The thin satin shawl draped over her forearms blew in a rare and welcome breeze, and as she got closer to the Artemis Club, the sense of thinly veiled seediness drew in. The streets were a little quieter, and she could almost smell the illegal liquor on the air - maybe opium too. It wasn’t even like the place was in a bad part of town, it was in fact shockingly upscale, but Ada had found that brothels found it hard to contain the heady air of sex inside the walls.

Entering the dimly lit doorway, she nodded and smiled as the pretty girl who sat on the chair by the door and the slightly older woman that drifted over, beaming.  
 “Are you here for Franklin Reese’s party dear?” She asked, tucking her ginger hair behind her ear, and clearly trying her utmost to sound professional. 

“Yes, I can tell by the ruckus upstairs that my noisy friends have already arrived.”

Indeed, the band was clearly in full swing above her, and she could hear the rabble of many talking and laughing voices.

“Indeed, your friend Franklin really went all out.” The woman began to lead her upstairs. “But I hope the Artemis Club can attend to all your needs, we’re an up and coming establishment. I’m Gillian by the way, please see me for anything you need.”

Ada looked around at the ornate decoration as they neared the main floor, a man and woman running past in front of them hand in hand, giggling like school children as they obviously headed to a more private area. In her honest opinion, the pillars against the wood panelling may have been a little much, but the packed room buzzed with enjoyment and made it all fit.

“It’s a lovely place you have here, and thank you, I hope you’ll join us for a dance later on.” Ada said politely. “And a drink, once Franklin puts a tab down he tends to forget to close it.”

Gillian chuckled, again with the politeness of a proprietor wanting desperately to keep the guests entertained and spending money.

“I may take you up on that. Have a nice evening.” Gillian gently touched Ada’s elbow in that practiced way that just slightly suggested they could have more contact if she wanted it.

Swinging her little beaded purse more securely onto her shoulder, she pushed her way through the tight crowd, looking for a white blonde head. 

“Ada! Finally!” The blonde found her first: she felt a pull on her elbow and she was dragged into a group of recognisable faces, the most well known being Mary. “Drink, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” Her friend pushed a bourbon into her hand, shuffling her shoulders to the up tempo music.

“I can see that, you old drunkard.” She said, tossing a fair amount of her drink back, more than used to the burn. “Now, where is Franklin?”   
“Oh probably off with a little brunette number on a chaise somewhere.” Mary waved her hand dismissively.

“George?” Ada asked, the group laughed raucously, George, a tall and pretty-faced man, included. 

“You ought not to mock, little Miss Chicago.” He said, throwing an arm round her shoulder. “Every drop of liquor in this place only came in thanks to him.”

Mary gasped, scandalised, and the men of the group seemed interested too. 

“No.” Said Mary, a smirk quirking on her lips that Ada knew meant she was desperate for every ounce of gossip. “Franklin? A bootlegger?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.” George tapped is nose, smiling knowingly.

“Oh you really can’t be shocked Mary.” Danny scoffed with an eye roll. “Have you met a single person in this town that makes an honest living?”

“Well, she met you, and you’re a lawyer, so I guess you’re right.” Ada said into her drink, anticipation the crack of chortles that followed. It relaxed her to make them laugh, but they did enjoy a cheap shot. 

Everything mattered less the more drinks everyone downed, and suddenly to Ada, the company of every person in the room was the most enjoyable she’d ever had. Mary brought her into the crowd and they danced together, and with some of the men, hopping and quick footed dances that left them all red in the face and surely foolish looking. Some of the working girls took to teaching the women how to dance like flappers, and Ada enjoyed watching Mary giggle, bright blue eyes lighting up as she learned the moves.

Mary was a true friend, though they had only met after Ada’s first successes, she had always been taken with her personality, and her lack of pretension for someone from such high society when they spoke alone.

Leaning on the bar after a few more dances Ada found herself at the centre of a few people, asking her for stories and jokes. It made her slightly uncomfortable normally to find people hanging off her words, but the liquor soothed this and made her eager to please.

If she had looked behind the bar to the man busying himself restocking the rum she would have noticed another person listening. 

Richard had seen her come in, which was not odd, part of his job was to keep an eye on the patrons, though this task was certainly more difficult tonight with the place fuller than it had ever been. Gillian had jumped at the chance to have a normal, metropolitan party hosted at the place, and the rich sort that had booked it seemed to have cash to throw around. To him, it looked to be a nice relief for the girls to entertain in ways the men that frequented the establishment were not normally interested in. 

It was a little strange that he had found himself looking for her in the crowd frequently throughout the night. Women did not usually take his interest that strongly anymore, and even if they did, he tried his best not to stare when he thought a girl was pretty, as not to put them out. This girl was not just pretty though. Every time he noticed her she seemed to have her head thrown back in a laugh, and he would see her quirk her eyebrows and playfully pout at the people she danced with. 

Animated, that’s what she was. Maybe that was why he kept looking at her.

It was all the more difficult not to when she ended up feet away from him at the bar as he unloaded a case of rum, and he heard the sound of her voice. She didn’t have a New York accent, or a particularly strong accent of anywhere, but his ear told him Chicago maybe.  
 From where she stood in profile to him, he could see that her skin was just as fair and seemingly glowing as it looked from afar, and that her nose was more upturned than he had noticed. She had a little blush across her décolletage and cheeks too from the alcohol and the activity. There was no wonder people were swarming round her: she shone.

He tried to busy himself with a little bar work as the volume of customers to the bar wasn’t letting up. As usual, he noted and dismissed those who looked too long at his face, and poured out the drinks. Soon, he’d retire to his room, but he didn’t want Gillian to think he was work-shy.

Richard also did not want to miss a word this girl said.

“So, what was the pseudonym you wrote under? Something dreadfully pedestrian I thought.” A gentleman with one of the working girls hanging off his arm asked her.

“Johnathan Wainwright. And that dreadfully pedestrian name along with the dreadfully pedestrian poetry bought me my house.” She chided and sipped her sherry. 

“You’ve got to give us a sample.” One of the girls said.

“Oh, here we go.” Mary rolled her eyes, wondering what would come out of her friend’s mouth now.  
 Ada’s eyes sparkled as she finished her drink and cleared her throat, the gaggle quieting.

“‘I walked a lonely path through mottled hills and sloping banks. Oh, the valley was beautiful, but not as beautiful as her!” She began with mock poeticism, exaggerated arm movements. “‘Her eyes more blue than the iridescent lake, and her pussy sweeter than the berries on the tree!” 

The punchline caused the most raucous laughter, and she chuckled too, shaking her head.  
In honesty, Richard almost blushed. It was not like he hadn’t heard plenty of this language before, but it shocked him to have snuffed out the naive picture he’d drawn in his mind of this angelic little thing that floated and danced through this party. 

The band started up a number everyone knew, everyone but Richard, apparently, and Ada’s group dispersed, trying to drag her along to dance.

“No I need a rest, you go.” He vaguely heard her say, before she was turning to back to the now quieter bar, facing him. She was no less pretty from head on. 

For just a second, he saw her take in the mask, her eyes flitted over it, but she did not let on that it had shocked her at all. Seeing people jump, especially women and kids, always made him feel rotten inside.

“Would you mind getting me a tap water? I think the heat is getting to me.” She said, fanning herself with her hand.

Richard nodded and shuffled into the door behind the bar, taking the moment as he filled the glass with cold water to try to relax and compose himself. She was no less engaging up close, not a bit. Now he had seen her face to face, he had noticed the shape of her lips, full, and pink. He noticed his cheeks were hot, his palms may even have been a little clammy, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. 

She smiled brightly at him when he returned to her, setting the glass down, which she took appreciatively, and thanked him for.

“You’re welcome.” He said, and the gruffness of his voice took her aback as she had a long gulp of her water, even the feel of the cold condensation on the glass welcome. It was not a voice that came from just a natural gravelly-ness, she could tell, it was damage. 

It mad him feel a tad lecherous to watch her neck move when she took a deep drink, but it was too fair and delicate looking for him not to. 

“Have you been partaking in the festivities?” She asked, glancing round. He had not expected her to kick up conversation and had been prepared to head in the back again.

He shook his head. “No. I work as a caretaker here. Help out where I can. Keep an eye out for - rowdy patrons.” His throat clicked, and he swallowed.  
 “I can’t imagine keeping handsy men from getting too boisterous can be all that fun.” Tucking a bit of hair behind her ear, she took another sip of her water. 

“It’s not so bad.” He shook his head, and she noticed how he held his hands quite stiffly at his sides and rubbed his fingertips together. A nervous tick. “These types of things are a little harder to, hm, manage.”

“Rich types wanting a taste of naughtiness and spilling their drinks on you? I can imagine.” 

“You seemed to be entertaining them before.” He pointed out. Why did he seem to find it hard to meet her eye? She wondered. 

“Oh you heard me?” She asked, looking down with a little laugh, he hoped that didn’t imply he had been eavesdropping. “I’m not really so arrogant as I act, I promise.” 

Fearing for a moment he had insulted her, he swallowed. “I wasn’t. Implying that.”  
 “I know. I just wanted at least someone in the room to know I don’t think I’m as funny as they do.” She smiled, leaning further forward on her elbows and relaxing into the conversation. “These modernist types, they love their art mixed with a dirty mouth.”

“I noticed. Don’t think I’ve ever mm, heard a lady say that word before. In polite company.” He admitted and she swore she saw a little smile on the exposed corner of his mouth. Ada thought he had nice lips for a man, pink. 

“Oh? But have you heard it from a lady in impolite company?” Her voice turned low and quiet, sultry even. Richard swallowed again, his throat seemed to be drying out quicker tonight. When she noticed he was not taking her raunchy bait, she carried on. 

“Which word, anyway? I said a lot of words that pretty lips shouldn’t say.” She said conspiratorially, leaning forward on her hand. 

She did have pretty lips, he noticed again when she said that, and made himself look back up at her eyes. 

Richard shook his head. “I can’t - repeat it.”

She knew which one it was, she leaned forward on the bar and smirked. 

“You can.” The way her eyebrow quirked coaxed a smile out of him. Like a boy saying a dirty word for the first time, he looked around to see if Gillian was around. If she thought he was doing or saying anything to spoil her upscale party, he was sure she would pull is ear. 

“Pussy.” He said after after a long while.

Knitting her eyebrows together and opening her mouth, she feigned shock and horror, but could not contain her silly giggle. 

“How dare you sir!” She put a hand on her chest, and he shook his head at her antics and let out a little huff of a laugh. “I should slap you on the good side.” She gestured to his face, and the realisation that of course she had noticed, and now they were both thinking about it, punched him in the gut.

Ada saw his smile fall and how he suddenly avoided her eye, lips twitching slightly as he focussed on taking away the empty glass in front of her and putting it under the bar. She was sure she had hurt his feelings. Her face burned hot with mortification.

“God, I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny… I wasn’t trying to-“ 

“Don’t apologise.” He shook his head. Richard did not like to be made to feel like a martyr. 

“No, I have to I’ve just had too much to drink and I hope you don’t think-“

“Please.” He cut her off again. “Don’t worry.” 

“Well, I-“

This time, Ada was cut off by Mary calling her name across the room. The blonde waved at her, leaning on one foot as the alcohol clearly got to her. Ada looked at her with a bit of impatience. 

“Sweetie, our ride is leaving. Impatient fool won’t wait another minute!” She giggled as her hip was squeezed by said impatient fool, the group laughed raucously. 

“Okay, I’m coming just a second.” Ada turned round to say goodbye, and maybe try to apologise properly to the man, who she was now realising’s name she had not got, but saw the door of the backroom swing closed where he had evidently left.

Feeling a sick buzz of guilty anxiety in her stomach, she returned to Mary, intent that this would not be a faux pas she would forget in a drunken haze.


	2. Chapter 2

In fact, it turned out that Ada remembered her faux pas more intensely and clearly throughout the night after she arrived home than she would have liked. Sleep usually came quickly to her when she had drank herself past tipsiness, but the fall of the man’s smile she had tried so hard to coax out kept replaying itself in her mind. She lay on her back in the middle of her comfortable bed, covered by only her silk slip, staring at the ceiling and becoming increasingly sickened by the potpourri scent. 

She almost wished it was just the guilt and the heat keeping her awake, but it was not. This man had stuck in her head more than any other in years. His mask was strange, and she dreaded to think what it covered, maybe a terrible burn or scar tissue - but the side of his face she could see was certainly handsome, particularly because she had always hand an inclination towards dark hair and strong chins. 

Ada had long ago abandoned the religion of her mother and father, so felt no shame, if a little embarrassment, in how the memory of his voice made her feel. It rumbled deep, and his short sentences had made her want to chase his speaking, to draw it out. For just a moment, she imagined how it would sound spoken directly in her ear, and she shivered, feeling her nipples pressing up against the silk of her slip.

“Damn.” She breathed, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. Perhaps it was not a good idea to go back to the club and speak to him again, she surely had no time for an infatuation, never mind one with a man with whom likely had no interested in a pretentious drunk who mocks veterans for fun.

Good idea or not, Ada had never been terribly good at reigning in her compulsions, and for whatever reason, she had a compulsion to see this man again. 

It was a gratefully cooler day, but certainly duller than it had been, the sky overcast and occasionally threatening to break: Ada could feel spots of water on her bare arms. Her dress was black again, but more muted and simple than her party fare, and she wore a matching hat on the top of the curls pinned at the top of her neck. 

The Artemis Club lost a lot of its mystique during the day, quiet and muted, just another fancy building. Inside though, it was still rather dully lit, and Ada wrinkled her nose at the smell of perfumed air over the faint smell of sex.

She got herself a couple of strange looks from the women leaning on the stairs as she made her way up. Clearly they were not sure if to ask if she was lost or try and accommodate her. 

In the main room, she spotted the ginger haired madame from the night before standing by the window looking out with some wistfulness, Gillian, Ada thought her name was. The place was quiet, and the working girls that sat around appeared bored. Of course, it was to be expected so early on a Sunday morning. 

“Hello there.” Gillian said brightly when she noticed her, a tinge of confusion in her eyes. “How nice to see you again.”

“My, you really have a knack for remembering faces. Must have been over 100 people here last night.” Ada adjusted the shawl on her elbows.

“A face like that? Who could forget?” The woman replied sweetly. “Now, what can I do for you dear?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I might speak to one of your caretaker’s?” She asked, not knowing if there was more than one. “He was working at the party last night, moustache, mask?”  
“You mean Mr Harrow. Can I ask what this is in reference to?” A hint of suspicion showed on her face.

Ada was unsure how to reply for a moment. ‘I made a dumb joke and my conscience wouldn’t let it lie?’

“He got my inebriated friend safely into a cab,” the lie rolled off her tongue, “and she confessed to me today that she vomited on his shoes, I wanted to pay for cleaning.” She punctured it with a slight chuckle.

“Oh? Richard didn’t mention that.” Gillian said, not noticing clearly that she had dropped the ‘Mr Harrow’, and Ada got the impression that she wasn’t entirely believing her, which was irritating, she thought she had lied quite convincingly.

“Well, he didn’t strike me as a complainer.” Ada shrugged, hoping she was hitting the mark.

There was a slight pause where Gillian seemed to take her in, and Ada wondered why she was quite so paranoid. 

“That he’s not.” She eventually said, reverting back to her earlier smile, the one set to charm. “I’m sure he won’t accept money from you, but if you’d like to thank him his room is one floor up, second door on the left.” 

“Thank you.” Ada said gratefully, and headed out, feeling Gillian’s eyes on her back. 

Making her way up the stairs, she began to feel quite nervous, stomach buzzing. This was a rare feeling. Social affairs could make her uncomfortable, having her work read in front of her built anticipation in her, but true nerves, making her fingers tingle, were rare. Especially because of a man.

The doors were all painted blue, his the same, and she could hear the faint sound of a radio playing inside. She took a breath and pursed her lips together, trying to pink them up, before knocking.

“Come in.” His voice replied, unmistakable. 

Ada did not hesitate in opening the door, fearing she would lose her nerve and run away. 

Richard did not immediately look up when she closed the door behind her, still seated at his desk where he had been writing a letter, jacket gone and a few buttons open at the top of his shirt, which was also rolled up to the elbows. The profile she was met with was his uninjured side, and yes, it was as handsome as she remembered, damningly. 

“Mr Harrow.” She greeted softly. 

Richard almost jumped at the voice that was familiar to him but that he had not expected in any way. The girl that had been on his mind all night, chuckling and winking at him like they had a lifetime of private jokes, nibbling on that full bottom lip and looking at him like he was any other man chatting her up in a bar. 

Her being here, in his room, his space, real and tangible, and bringing in the scent of fresh air and her perfume, it dried is throat. It took him a second to actually cognise it, and he stood quickly and started to do up his shirt properly. 

“Sorry.” He said, straightening his collar. “I thought you were Tommy.”

When he reached for his jacket, she stepped further in the room.

“No, no. Please don’t feel the need to get smart not the count of me.” She said, somewhat flustered, pulling off her hat. “My name is Ada, by the way, and I only called by to apologise properly.”

He frowned and his lips twitched. “Why?”

It had not slipped his mind the lack of goodbye to their conversation, and he had found himself throughout the night dwelling on how his rushed departure could have seemed oversensitive. It had not hurt him, her joke, not really, the joke had just worked to bring reality crashing back, the reality being that even those who seemed not to notice or care about the state of his face always did. Especially beautiful women. 

After a moment, it occurred to him that that must have been what she was apologising for. 

“For my meanness last night. I considered bringing you a gift but I realised I don’t know you well enough to know what you’d like.” She chuckled nervously. 

“Really, not necessary. It was just, hm, a joke.” He realised his fingers were still reaching for his jacket and he put his hands awkwardly at his sides.

“A joke that came across mocking, and mean. Which it wasn’t intended as.” 

“Well, apology accepted.” He nodded, quirking his mouth in a little reassuring smile. 

“Thank you.” She said on an outward breath, relieved.

It then occurred to her that with his acceptance of her apology came the end of any reason for their interaction to continue, and although she could not entirely rationalise why, every part of her desperately did not want to end this here. 

“So, do you have any Sunday plans?” Ada was fully aware how awkward the question was. The man did not know her, and she had showed up in his room unannounced and interrupted whatever he was doing. 

Richard felt the awkwardness too, but it was tinged with confusion. He was glad she had not immediately left, if just because the longer she stayed the longer her lovely scent would linger in his room, at least, but why she was feeling the need to make conversation with him failed him. 

“No.” He shook is head. Very eloquent. When she just nodded, he realised he should have said more. “Do you?”

“No, no plans.” She shook her head, kneading the rim of her hat in her hands. Clearly Richard was not the type to ask, so she would, pride be damned. “I wondered if you might want to take a walk along the boardwalk? If my company’s not enough of a gift I’ll treat you to some cotton candy.”

A walk along the boardwalk with his woman sounded wonderful, honestly. But pity embarrassed and irritated him more than misfired jokes.

“I think, you’ve apologised, hm, plenty. You’d think you’d insulted - my mother, or something.”

She chuckled warmly at his joke. His mouth quirked. Richard did not make jokes a lot. 

“Then… since my apology excuse has worn down, I’ll ask if you want to come to the boardwalk with me anyway.” She said. “And we’ll go Dutch on the cotton candy.”

There was a bit of a pause. 

“I enjoyed chatting with you last night.” She elaborated. “But please feel free to say no, I know I’m being awfully cheeky.”

Swallowing, throat clicking, Richard tried to rationalise what she was asking, which sounded too much like a date to be anything else. If she was pitying him, he did not think she would be blushing like that. Blushing like a pretty girl talking to a handsome man would. 

 When rationalising wasn’t doing him any good, he decided instead just to be honest. 

“That sounds nice.” He said, and she felt her heart hammer, and held back a sigh of relief. “I just need to-“ Richard gestured to his desk.  
 “Oh! Of course, I’ll wait in the cafe down the street until you’re ready. Take your time.”

Both were glad for the time to collect themselves before the outing: Ada to remind herself who she was, and that she was more than capable of walking and talking, and being charming, if she would allow herself to just be calm, and Richard to assure himself that of course there was nothing wrong or strange in a young man taking a young woman for a Sunday stroll. That was how friendships started, he had to remind himself.

When he found her in the cafe she was finishing her tea, and brightly informed him that she had bought a slice of lemon cake to go. They left the place, into the gradually brightening day, and he listened to her as she chatted about anything and everything. It seemed after her nerves had faded it was difficult for her to stop talking. Not that he wanted her to, there was something terribly endearing about how she would tap his arm and tell him whatever seemed to pop into her mind, that the bookshop they were passing would give her books on the cheap because his wife loved her novel.

The colour in her hair had been muted brown in the low light of the club, but in the daylight he could see how it shone a little red on the top, helped by the fact he stood quite a bit taller than her. 

“Do you read?” She asked him, squinting up at him, sun in her eyes. 

“Yes, quite a lot, actually.” He said. 

“What kind of books do you like?” 

“Anything,” he shrugged, “but I’m partial to sword-fights.”

Her laugh gratified him. “All boys are.” 

When he walked behind her and crossed to her right side she looked at him quizzically.

“Sun was in your eyes.” He explained, and she nodded with a little smile, looking at the boards under her feet a second. 

While they continued to walk, she looped her arm into his, unsure if it was his sweet consideration that had compelled her to, or the fact that he looked even better in the daylight - his hair was still as black and neat, and his eye shone with more shades of green than she had noticed before - but either way she pursed her lips together and pretended not to notice is glance of surprise. 

“I overheard people saying that you’re a writer.” Richard said, knowing he should make more of an effort to contribute to the conversation. “Have you written anything I’d have read?”

“Not unless you enjoy sappy poetry.” She rolled her eyes.

“It’s my favourite.” He said, looking straight at her, and she frowned and tried to discern if he was joking, which was not easy. His lips twitched a bit and his eye crinkled and that gave it away. 

“I knew it wasn’t.” She laughed, batting his elbow with her free hand. “Only stupid people like the things I wrote under that pen name, and the things I write under my own name rarely get much attention.”

“Why’s that?” He asked her.

“People don’t like female writers.” She said like it was obvious. Looking at the fair they were approaching, the freak show tent, the juggler, the lively, silly music. Richard frowned to himself; it had never occurred to him to care who’d written the books he read, as long as they entertained him, or touched him. 

“I love how bright this place is.” Ada said, apparently forgetting what they had been talking about, looking around. “Colourful, all the time.” 

They stepped into a crowd, having to move closer together so he could feel the heat of her body through his jacket. 

“Is it this lively where you’re from?” He asked her, and avoided the person trying to sell raffle tickets.

“Cicero, and no. Not the area I lived in anyway.” 

“Were you from a nice part of the town?” He asked her.   
 “Do you assume that I was?” She asked back, eyebrow quirking like it was a challenge. Richard considered her for a moment.  
 “Yes, I would assume that. Most writers go to good schools and your friends are all, hm, well-to-do.” Richard explained, watching her smile a bit. “Is that an insulting presumption?”

“No, not at all, I like that you think I’m well educated.” She secured her arm more in the crook of his. “But no, we lived in the not-nice part of town.”

“Hm.” He nodded, genuinely surprised.

“Where abouts are you from Mr Harrow?” She asked. 

“Call me Richard.” He said. “I’m from Wisconsin, before the war, I lived on the family farm.”

“Was it very beautiful?” She made her way over to the hot dog stand, and this was enough to put the question she had asked out of her head for a moment. Her stomach groaned in a way she hoped to god he hadn’t heard when she smelled the food. “I feel like eating something undignified and greasy like this, how about you?” 

“Not much of a Sunday feast.” He said, taking his wallet out of his jacket. Ada had not noticed this, she was reaching into her purse to find her money. “Nothing for me thank you.” He said, reaching over to gently stop her hand. She looked up at him, he wondered if he knew how pretty her eyes were. 

It was the first time their skin touched, and it only lasted a moment, but like a teenager, she felt her ears get hot and her stomach flip. Aware that if she insisted on paying a gentleman would never allow her, she made her order and let him pay. 

When the hot dog was in her hand, they started walking again.

“Now, we were talking about your farm in Wisconsin, and while you tell me about it you’re not to look at me, because I’m going to try and negotiate a bite out of this thing without getting mustard everywhere.” 

He laughed out of his nose a bit.

“Alright.”

Much more time passed than either of them noticed or had intended, they wandered the boardwalk at a leisurely pace, exchanging questions, and her giving much longer and more tangential answers than him. Ada floated, that was the only word for it, loose dress and flyaway hair, shawl on her elbows, walking fairly slowly and seemingly without purpose. She offered him a bite of her hot dog, and he politely declined, she threw the last couple of bites away so she could link arms with him again. 

Often, the conversation would turn into an exchange of jokes, one desperately trying to get the other to laugh. Richard’s was breathy, and shook his chest, and Ada threw back her head and laughed from her stomach. Quickly, it was becoming a sound he chased.

“Oh my.” She led him quickly over to the shooting range. “I love that silver pinwheel, do you see it? Would look lovely in my window box…” She put on a face of faux contemplation, biting her bottom lip like she had no idea what she was implying.

“Then I suppose I should win it for you.” He said, and watched her quirk an eyebrow and twinkle up at him.

“Would ya?” 

When he paid the game’s attendant and picked up the rifle, he was struck by how extremely important it suddenly became for him to win. Ada was looking on from beside him with the little smile that seemed to barely leave her face, and a little expectation in her eyes. It was a child’s game, but it was also the thing he was best at, and he needed, very badly, to show her that.

“Hey darlin’, you want me to win you somethin’?” A male voice interrupted them both. Between the two of them, a young man leaned on the booth, well dressed, blonde and good looking. He was smirking confidently at her, the type that let her know that he could certainly have her down to her undergarments in a second with the skill of his charm.

Clearly, he had not realised that Ada and Richard were there together.

“Actually I-“

“C’mon. What do you want? You look like a girl who likes a cute little teddy bear.” He winked at her, and she fought off a laugh at his cockiness.

Richard on the other hand was unamused, because of course, this is how he should have been talking, all confidence and swagger. Jimmy had told him that plenty, that it didn’t matter who you were as long as you acted like you ‘had the biggest dick in Atlantic City.’ He swallowed, his throat was drying.

“Actually,” she said a little more firmly, putting her hand on the man’s chest to guide him out of her way, “I already have a companion.” Ada took a step back to Richard, nearly bumped into his chest.

The blonde man’s smirk grew a little more, he actually scoffed a little, and covered it up with a cough, putting a toothpick between his teeth.

“This guy?” He said, skeptically. 

“Uh-huh.” Ada beamed brightly, opting to dismiss his rudeness, she spun back to face Richard, and rolled her eyes. “We can go if you want, get away from this joker.” She murmured.

Richard considered her a second. “No.” He shook his head, and looked over at the man who didn’t seem to want to go anywhere, leaning on the stand still and watching them both. “How many targets for the pinwheel?” He asked the stand attendee. 

“Just 5, buddy.” The man said, disinterested.

Richard nodded and aimed down the sights. When the targets popped up, and he started to hit every single one without fail, Ada found herself quite taken aback, looking from him to the targets metallic pinging. Her mouth actually dropped open a little, either he liked this game a lot, or he had been no trench soldier. 

By the time he was done, a little crowd had actually formed to watch, pressing in and ‘oohing’ at his skill. 

“15 targets.” The man running the stand announced, displeased, and the people standing behind Ada actually applauded a bit, her included. “What prize you want?”

“Pinwheel.” Richard pointed to it, and it was handed to Ada, who giggled delightedly and threw her arms round his neck, he didn’t react in time, feeling himself go stiff.

“That was mighty impressive.” She said, grinning and pulling apart, regarding her pinwheel. “You’re clearly a man of hidden talents.” Tapping the thing, they both watched it spin. 

“Well, just that one.” He admitted and scratched the back of his neck, a little embarrassed by her praise.

“I doubt that.” She said, and bit her bottom lip. If she had intended it to sound anything other than suggestive, she had failed, and Richard felt hot. “At any rate, it certainly made my little admirer retreat.”

Glancing round, Richard felt a terribly male triumph in the fact that the man was nowhere in sight, and he had not even had to speak to him to back him down. 

“The beta male scampers back to his habitat.” She said, like she had read his mind. Ada linked arms with him again and blew on her spinning wheel. 

“Should I beat my chest?” He asked, and she laughed. 

It was only when the boardwalk started to clear as people gradually made their way home that Ada noticed quite how long their little stroll had become. Even this was not a catalyst to make her want to go home, there had been such an ease to the whole thing, and Richard was so without artifice or pretence that she found herself wanting to know everything about him. 

Nevertheless, he walked her home, and she found herself standing in front of him on her porch, and glad she was sober, because the temptation to invite him in otherwise would have been too much, and she had to have some degree of propriety.

“Thank you for indulging me today Richard, I had a lovely time.” She told him honestly. His fingers were rubbing together again nervously.

“I enjoyed myself too.” He assured her with a nod.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she reached into her bag and took out something wrapped in brown paper, “lemon cake, from this morning. I kept asking you to eat all day and it never occurred to me that you might not have been comfortable with that.” Ada spoke softly. 

He let a breath out his nose and swallowed, taking the package from her. 

“So promise me you’ll eat it as soon as you get home, and next time I’ll try not to stuff my face.” She chuckled, tucking some hair behind her ear. ‘Next time, next time,’ Richard repeated in his head.

“I will, thank you.” He tucked the package into his jacket pocket and nodded again. Nerves permeated the air while he decided the most appropriate way to say goodbye. “Hm, have a nice evening.”   
 Ada could tell he was mentally contending with what he should do, so she stepped forward and planted a small, chaste peck on his cheek. 

“You too.” She smiled, and opened her front door, the hallway of her house smelled like her, he noticed. “And, you know where I am now if you’d ever like to do this again.”

Richard nodded, his lip twitched a little, his cheek burned, and her door closed.


	3. Chapter 3

By noon the day after their day out, Ada had still not dressed. She found herself drifting round her house in her slip and long silk robe, one a gentleman trying to win her favour had bought and assured her had had bought it in China and she would never find another. The gentleman had been too old for her, but the robe was very comfortable. 

The house was a fair size, a bedroom, office and bathroom upstairs, a kitchen, dining, and living room down, it was nice, but not particularly special for the most part, and Ada found the space too large for her alone. Her dining room was especially grand, eight chairs around the ornate table and she would run her hand down the smooth surface and sigh, remembering her cramped, overcrowded childhood apartment. 

That day, she found herself making food she did not eat, halfheartedly writing away at her typewriter and scrapping the pages, finding her work suddenly awful. 

She had liked men in the past, but to be so utterly consumed to distraction was entirely new. Like that Saturday night she met him she kept picturing him in her minds eye, thinking of his voice, and how pleasant it felt to be on his arm. 

Over at the Artemis Club, Richard found himself distracted himself. That morning, before Gillian had got up, he had gone to the bookshop Ada favoured, and found her book on the shelves. ‘At the End of the Summer,’ it was called, and throughout his breaks at work, he found himself devouring it like it would unveil a great secret to him. 

The plot was this: A young woman, Elena, finds herself grieving for the death of her parents and sister, and battles with loneliness, melancholia and pressure to marry above her station. If any of it was autobiographical he did not know, and did not have the cheek to ask, but the prose was clean, and often beautiful, and he found himself sitting on an upturned bucket in the backroom of the bar, chin resting on his hand, wondering how anyone could know this woman and not be enamoured with her.

Almost finished, he closed the book, wanting to save the end for the evening. He ran his fingertips over the embossed lettering on the front: ‘Ada Schiller.’ Her name looked right on the front of a book. 

There was a hammer on the door, a job for him to do, and he was glad for the distraction, tucking the book into his inner jacket pocket.

By the end of the week, Ada found herself in an upscale speakeasy with Mary, working on a rum over ice. She could tell the class of the place because all the men were old and all their wives, (if they were their wives), were young and beautiful. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Ada sighed with disdain.  
 “What else are we to do on a Friday night? Drink coffee indoors?” Mary asked, and straightened the gaudy red feather headband she wore.

“That sounds lovely actually.” Ada said, and Mary scoffed. Ada knew when her friend was trying to catch an eye, because she would sit sideways on her chair so her legs were showing and keep her chin tilted up, smiling brightly at nothing. Red was Mary’s colour, it worked with her blonde hair nicely, made her look like a movie star, and Ada would just watch on in amusement and ignore the interested glances her antics brought them both. 

“Ugh, look at you,” Mary said, “you don’t even have to try and they’re all staring.” She looked at her jealously, but amused. 

“What can I say? It must be my roguish charm.” Ada shrugged, and sent a polite smile to a gentleman across the room who had been trying to catch her eye. 

“And your wonderful breasts.” Mary giggled, a little drunk, and Ada laughed and shook her head. “Well it’s true! Men pay good money to get a lady with big ones like that.” 

“I don’t know you can have the audacity to scald me for my impolite manners Mary.” Ada took a big sip. “And if I’d like to find myself being on the arm of some high flying rich type who wants to fondle my chest I’ll let you know.”  
 “Oh please, no one can hear us.” She said, “and if you do fancy a man for however long you’re planning to stay here, just let me know.”

“Really? And what kind of man could I have?” She asked with obvious disinterest.   
 “Well, I happen to know that Franklin took a meeting with Nucky Thompson the other day.” Mary said quietly, conspiratorially. 

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Ada asked. 

“You’ve seen him around. Country Treasurer, or he was, basically controls this town.” Mary said. “Skinny fellow. I think we saw him at that fancy speak last month, Babette’s.” 

Her brow furrowed with thought. If she had seen him, he had clearly not made much of an impression of her, though the description somewhat rang a bell with her. 

“Anyway, Thompson’s married, but I hear his wife’s been gone for months, with the kids, and he always likes to have a lady at his side.” 

“Hmm, a skinny married politician, how could I resist?” She raised her eyebrows.

“You’re so obstinate! It doesn’t have to be him for Pete’s sake. I’m just saying that we’ve established ourselves in Atlantic City long enough to take advantage of being attractive, unaccompanied women.” Mary shrugged, taking her little gold cigarette box out of her bag. 

“Well I’m not constantly on the look out for a husband, Mary. Can I have one of those?” Mary put a cigarette between her own lips and handed one to Ada, lighting them both. “I’m quite content by myself.” 

“No one is content by themselves, Ada.” Mary said, and took a drag of her cigarette, sending a twinkling look to a man across the room. 

Pausing a moment, brow furrowing somewhat, Ada took opened her purse and took out her small brown, worn notebook and fountain pen, ‘no one is content by themselves,’ she wrote, and slipped it away again.

It was true, Ada had always been most content in her own company, probably due to the fact of having spent the first few years of her life in a tiny house with four siblings. She swallowed deeply, and pushed the thought from her mind. It was not true to say her motivation to decline Mary’s offer was only born out of her preference to be alone, because when she thought about taking a man home, about waking up in the morning with one in her bed and making coffee for them both, it was not an unpleasant thought at all. Only she had a particular man in mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Another week passed and Ada became irrationally affronted that she had not seen Richard. She was aware it was irrational, because she had not explicitly invited him to her house again, nor had she given him her phone number, but she thought she had made it clear she had enjoyed herself, and that she perhaps might want to do it again. There were three occasions, where, when out with Mary, Ada would almost suggest they go back to the Artemis Club, but she knew that without actually attending a party there, they would just be going to any other cathouse and not paying for their custom. 

While she had not seen him, Richard had seen her. He was walking down the boardwalk, nondescript crate in his arms filled with bottles of more premium whiskey than they usually had that Gillian had needed picking up from the docks, when he walked by a fancy dress shop and his eye was caught by her through the glass. It was hard to discern what exactly it was about her made her stand out so much, perhaps it was that she managed always to look so beautiful and put together while her hair was often flighty and imperfect, and she wore mostly blacks and browns.

Her friend, the blonde from the night before he believed she’d called Mary, was holding up a dress to Ada’s body and chattering away. She saw Ada roll her eyes, but take the garment anyway. He knew he could go in and say hello to her, he knew he wanted to, but he was working, and besides anything else did not have the nerve.

The more he had thought on it, the more it was ridiculous for him to entertain the notion that she might want to see him again. She was too beautiful, successful, intelligent, surely, to really care to spend time with him. Nice as their day had been, he got the impression that she treated everyone that way, he was not special.

As usual, that Saturday night, Ada found herself out with Mary in Babette’s. Unusually, she found herself being introduced to someone Mary whispered in her ear was very important and that she should be polite to. They had been chatting with Franklin and some of his older friends, when the man approached, rather short, but generally good looking and well dressed.

“Ada, Mary, this is Mr Arnold Rothstein, an associate from New York City.” Franklin, who was in his mid-thirties, confident and better dressed every time Ada saw him, looked eager to introduce them. “Mr Rothstein, you may have heard of this one before, Ada Schiller, she is a very talented writer.”

“The name certainly rings a bell, but I’m afraid I haven’t indulged.” He said with a polished politeness. She reached out to shake his hand, and he took it gently and kissed the knuckles. 

“I’m sure you have precious little time for fiction.” She smiled politely and took her hand back. 

“Doesn’t mean I have no time for it at all.” He said, keeping her eye, the people around them were dispersing, breaking off into their own little conversations. “What is it about?”

“What all novels are about, a sad, lonely person trying not to be sad and lonely.” She sipped her drink.   
 “I’ll have to pick up a copy.” He said, and she knew he would not. “You know, I can usually spot a writer from a mile away, or smell them.”

Ada laughed and shook her head. “Hopefully that means I am the exception.” 

“Quite.” He nodded, with a small smile. It pained her to say that he was in fact quite charming, but it was a practiced type of charm, not that kind that Richard had, unintentional, easy…

No, she thought, she would have to stop letting her mind drift back to him so easily.

Mr Rothstein chatted with her for a while, the discussion light and somewhat shallow, but she was happy to talk to him nonetheless, and it did not hurt to feel attractive, because it was quite clear with the way he eyes would flit over her body while he thought she wasn’t looking that he found her attractive. He left to continue to mingle with a few other people and Ada returned to a giddy Mary, who wanted to know everything that had been said.

“Just chatting, Mary, nothing scandalous.” Ada assured her, putting a cigarette between her lips.

“Ada, do you have a minute to get some air?” Franklin asked her out of nowhere, a little surprised, she nodded on the less and lit her cigarette, following him out of the back door of the club.

He seemed edgy, shuffling from foot to foot when they stepped into the warm night air, hands in his pockets. Franklin was usually perpetually relaxed, he had a lounging attitude, forever leaning on walls and sighing at nothing. 

“Do you need a cigarette, Franklin? You look nervous.” She took a long drag from her own.

“No, I just have to ask you something.” He said, and when she just looked at him with expectation, he asked. “Do you still talk to your dad?”

This truly took her aback, she visibly flinched at the mention, mouth tightening. 

“No.” She said simply. 

“Well, did you know he’s out of prison now, selling hooch?” Franklin seemed to be getting his nerve back now he had asked her the question. 

“Good for him.” She shrugged, and leaned back on the wall behind her. Franklin leaned beside her. 

“What? He gets done for being an anarchist and suddenly he’s dead to you? Didn’t take you as a Republican, Ada.” He smirked a little bit, only half jesting.

“Oh shut up you smart-ass you have no idea what the man was like.” She snapped, wetting her teeth. “What is this about? Just be out with it already.” She said impatiently.

“Well, my boss heard he has connections in Havana, you know if that’s true?”

“What of it?” She was being deliberately obstructive. 

“Does he or not?” He asked, taking his own cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one in his lips.

“He talked about Cuba occasionally, friends there. Now tell me why it matters.” 

“I need to get in touch with him, I just need a phone number, okay? That’s all.” He said, somewhat pleadingly. 

Ada chewed the inside of her mouth, looking at him with furrowed brow. 

“I can give you the last address I had for him, that’s it.” She took her pen and notebook out of her back. “And that’s the last I want to hear of it.”

“Thank you, you don’t know how helpful this is.” He said, clearly relieved, taking her shoulders and squeezing them as she wrote the address down. “You’re an angel.”

“Hmm.” She mumbled, displeased and having been forced to talk about her family. 

“Mr Rothstein was asking about you, wanted to know if you’re with anyone.” He said conversationally as she ripped out the page and tucked it in his shirt pocket. 

“Well I’m not.” She finished her cigarette and stubbed the end out under the toe of her shoe.    
“Good, I’ll tell him.” He said. 

“Don’t.” She said immediately. 

“Why?” He asked with a frown. Of course he could not fathom missing the opportunity for social climbing.  
 “Because it’s none of his business.” She said with an irritated little smirk, and headed back inside.

Finding Mary, she threw an arm round her shoulder. “Let’s get steaming drunk.” Ada said.

Drunk they got. They danced and drank, danced and drank, until the room spun and their skin sweated, and every person they met was hilarious and delightful. It was only when Mary, somewhat bleary eyed, asked if she minded if she left with a young gentleman she had met that they called it a night. Ada said goodbye to her friend, and warned her new companion that she would be calling in the morning to see if everyone was healthy, and departed Babette’s, pink faced, and wobbly legged.

The fresh air outside did her good, made her feel a little more awake, but she could not deny being drunk as she swung her purse by her side and focussed on the boards in front of her as she made her way home. 

Ahead of her, further down the boardwalk, she could not help but notice a man walking in a specific and familiar way, quite slow and deliberate, this led her to noticing the flat cap, and then the long tweed coat. It had to be him.

“Richard!” She called, because she had drank too much not to. The man turned his head, and the streetlight shone on his mask. Of course it was him. Looking puzzled, he turned entirely to face her, and she rushed forward, grinning, tripping a bit when she got to him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, taking in her pink complexion and her unsteady footing.

“Yes.” She said breathlessly, looking him in the eye, smiling. Richard saw the haziness in her eyes, and when she spoke, he could smell liquor on her breath. He wondered if she knew her the strap of her sleeveless dress was hanging too low on her shoulder, and he resisted the urge to adjust it for her and touch the skin there.

“Have you been having a fun night?” He asked, his throat clicked. When next he saw her, he hoped he would have had himself more together, more prepared to speak to her, and not, as he was in that moment, tired from a long day’s work and making his way home. 

“I have, can ya tell?” She shuffled her shoulders a little, squinting one eye with vague embarrassment. 

“Yes.” He nodded, and she laughed. “Why are you walking home?” 

“Just felt like it.” She shrugged, glancing over at the waves folding over one another. 

“You shouldn't walk home, hm, alone. Dangerous.” He said.

“Is that an offer?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. Clearly alcohol made her even more flirtatious. He nodded, and she wasted no time in hooking arms with him as they had the last time they were together. 

She walked slowly, looking content and tired, she enjoyed the feel of his coat on her skin.

“I’m so glad I ran into you, Richard.” She said, the words just pouring out of her mouth. “I’ve thought of you quite a lot since we were last together.”

Richard suddenly became aware of his pulse picking up in his neck.

“I was half hoping you’d show up to my door one day.’ She admitted, not being cognisant enough to be embarrassed. “But you’re not really that type of man, are you?” She squeezed his arm with her free one and looked up at him.

He was not quite sure what that meant.

“Sorry.” he said, after a moment. She was leaning against him, her warmth was nice. 

“No, it wasn’t an insult it was a compliment.” When he didn’t reply she elaborated. “Most men see me, and want me, and decide they’re not going to give in until they get me, no matter how little I seem to be interested.” 

He felt her eyes on him again, having to tilt her head up to look at his face. 

“I flirted with you and you didn’t even try to push it, because you’re a respectful man, a truly respectful one, not one that’s only respectful in company.” She was rambling, and she hiccupped a bit, but not slurring, she still had her wits about her. 

“You flirted with me?” He said, genuinely asking the question, and she laughed a laugh that echoed round the quieting street.

“Yes! That whole day was a huge flirt, Richard.” She giggled, shaking her had at his obliviousness. 

“If I had known. It had been a flirt, hm, I wold have worn a nicer hat.” He said, and she laughed properly then, making him smile also. Whether or not she was properly drunk, or just tipsy, he could not quite discern. 

“Well next time, I’ll warn you beforehand and you can dress appropriately to impress my very particular tastes.” 

They arrived at her home, and he kept his arm in hers as they went up the porch steps, which were slightly slick from earlier rain. She negotiated them quite easily though, the fresh air seeming to have worn off the bulk of her unsteadiness. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked her as she unlocked her door.

“Yes, thank you, I’m feeling like another drink actually, if you’d like to join me?” She took her lip between her teeth, and leaned on the door to open it. 

Yes, yes, desperately, more than anything, was something like the sentiment he had in mind. Richard swallowed deeply.

“Are you sure you should - drink more?” He asked her.

“Quite sure, thank you.” She grinned. “Are you going to make me do it alone like a sad old spinster?”

Richard shook his head, and wondered why he thought he saw her shiver when he followed her inside. 

Her home was what he would have expected from her if he thought hard enough, clean, pleasant, and having a specific and pleasant scent that he was happy to have fill his nose. He followed her into her living room, looking at the paintings on the wall he passed, and there were a lot. 

“You like art.” He said aloud.

“Yes, very much so.” She said, heading for her drinks cabinet. The living room was nice, but a little too big for one person. It was doubtlessly hers though, books stacked on every available surface, as well as trinkets and empty bottles. Her furniture was mismatched too, he thought she must have put it together herself. “Do you?” 

“Yes. My friend was an artist. She drew me once.” He said, removing his hat. 

“You are a very interesting subject matter.” She said thoughtfully, he watched her pour out a drink, back to him, and wonder if she knew she’d said that. “What’s your poison?” She asked.   
 “Whiskey.” He said. “Any kind.” 

When she poured his drink and turned round to face him, she chuckled a bit. He was still standing in the middle of her living room, coat on, worrying his hat in his hands. She put the glasses down on her coffee table and went to him. 

“Sit down.” She said softly, taking off his coat for him. He felt her breath on the back of his neck and tensed to avoid his shudder. “And get comfortable, because as you can probably tell, I am a chatty drunk.” 

Ada’s drink of choice that night was red wine, something difficult to come by, and she sat in the middle of her couch and toed off her shoes. Richard followed her lead, sitting down in an adjacent chair. 

She looked at him for a moment like she was thinking about something. “Do you miss home?”

He hadn’t anticipated such a question.

“Hm, sometimes. It’s hard to find a quiet place here sometimes.” He said, watching, and then quickly averting his eye when she tucked her bare legs beneath her and her dress hiked up her thighs.

“Do you like the quiet?” She asked, leaning her head on her hand.  
 “Yes. Back home, you could go out in the woods and not see or hear another person for hours.” He wet his throat. “It could be lonely but - it was nice sometimes.” She nodded, enraptured with listening to him speak. “But… in France, I would spend days alone, preparing, and then I would miss the noise.”

He knew it could make her uncomfortable to talk about the war, but he couldn’t help it bleeding into his conversation, and sometimes he wondered why he should help it, it was so much of his life and personhood.

“What did you do in the war?” Ada asked, genuinely interested, if somewhat apprehensive to know.

“I was a sharpshooter.” He said, picking up his drink, deciding better of it, and putting it back down.

“Of course.” She said with a breath of confirmation. “Your performance at the carnival the other day was truly something else.”

“It’s a shame that - it can’t go on my form as a transferrable skill.” He joked wryly. Ada, thankfully, threw her head back and laughed, covering her mouth. 

“I’m sorry, should I not laugh?” She asked, still smiling, blushing.

“No, you should.” He nodded. “I don’t like people walking on eggshells around me.” 

“Well, I can understand that.” She said and took another, bigger drink. “Well, I guess I can’t really understand but…”

“Hm, I know what you mean.” He assured her, and she nodded, finishing her glass and setting it down. It was when she placed her empty glass next to his full one that she noticed she had been the only one drinking. 

“Is that drink not to your taste?” She asked with some concern.

“Um, no, it’s not that.” Richard felt uncomfortable and shuffled in its seat. Sensing his discomfort, realisation crashed over her.

“Oh damn, there I go again, proving how inconsiderate I am.” She stood quickly and went to the drink stand, looking for a straw.  
 “You’re too hard on your self.” He said, watching her rush to find what he needed. “I should have- said something.”

“You shouldn’t have to, you’re my guest.” She said, and returned to him with a straw, popping it in his drink. He thanked her. “Now, you told me about your twin sister the other day, does she look just like you?”

Just like their day out, Ada seemed to be a seemingly never ending font of questions, and seemed to lap up anything he could tell her about himself. It took him a little while to relax, the situation so alien, both sitting in the home of a beautiful woman, and revealing things about himself he rarely did. 

She made him come and sit on the couch with her, and the more they drank, the more they both laughed. Ada sat with her back against the arm, and her toes almost touched his leg, she would loll her head to the side as they chatted and her head felt heavy. 

He had turned to face her, his leg half propped up on the couch, and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and loosened his tie as the liquor got to him and made him hot. 

“So, Tommy just stole a whole box of candy canes?” She giggled.

“Yes. I didn’t notice he had them until we were half way down the street.” He said.

“Did you yell at him?” 

“No. He didn’t know what he’d done and, I like candy canes.” He said, and she laughed loudly, putting her hand on his forearm. Her hands were warm and soft, and he wanted her to keep touching him. 

She moved her hand back though and looped her arms it round her bent legs.

“Oh, I should probably stop drinking now.” She sighed tiredly, closing her eyes. 

“Probably yes.” Richard said, but sipped his own drink, making her chuckle.

There was another long moment where she just looked at him, her eyes a little bleary, but sparkling at him. He wanted to comment on the fact that she stared at him a lot, but didn’t. He didn’t get the impression she was looking at him for a bad reason; it reminded him of the way Angela regarded him while she drew him, assessing, without judging. 

“I want to show you something.” She eventually said, quietly. Richard’s throat clicked, the low register of her voice made his skin tingle, made his mind race through a picture reel of things she might want to show him in this tipsy state. When she stood, just for a second, he was sure she was going to pull her dress over her head, but instead she just smiled at him and left the room, obviously intending him to follow her. He had to take a breath. 

Richard rubbed his fingers together nervously as he followed her upstairs, wishing he could take his shirt off just to cool down. When he led her into her bedroom, he felt his heart hammering in his chest, felt his ears get hot. She was definitely wobbling on her feet now though, swaying off track slightly as she walked. 

“Now don’t, get too excited.” She said, touching her vanity table to ground herself. 

Well, that somewhat threw cold water on his nerves.

She threw her window open wide, and gestured him to come over. For both of them, affected by alcohol and the easy fun of the evening, proximity was a little dangerous. Ada had to face away from him when he stood behind her and looked over her shoulder, feeling tense, feeling like her bones were vibrating. God, had her home always been so stifling?

“Look,” she gestured to her window box, where she was growing white roses, “the pinwheel you won me.”

Indeed, lazily spinning just slightly in the breeze was the silver pinwheel.

“It looks very pretty.” He said, and she swore she could feel the reverberation of his voice go through her. She felt wet and hot between her legs. 

Ada turned to face him, tilting her head to look up at him. The soft light of her bedroom did so flatter him, it pained her to think he seemed so often uncomfortable with himself, she couldn’t imagine that what ever he had under the mask could spoil the beauty of the side she could see. His breathing picked up through his nose, she knew he could feel it to, he had to, this electricity. 

“I’m gonna kiss you.” She whispered, leaning in before he could say anything. It didn’t matter, his hands, so gently, found the sides of her face, and he pressed the good side of his lips against hers, pressing as firmly as he could. 

Her lips were as soft and plump as they looked, and when he took her bottom lip between his, she whimpered, and wrapped her arms around his neck, moving her body against him. She stepped forward and urged him to step back, towards her bed, which he allowed. Ada shivered when his thumbs brushed her earlobes, and wondered if he knew what he was doing better than he let on. 

When the back of his knees bumped the edge of her bed, the alcohol taste in her mouth became newly apparent. 

“Hm.” The sound came out of his throat as he moved his lips away from her, and swallowed. “We should stop now.” Richard did not let go of her face. 

“That sounds like a bad idea to me.” She said breathlessly, all mirth. Richard was not a cocky man, but he could see in her eyes what she wanted in that moment, what she wanted from him, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to let go of her and take her wrists in his hands instead. 

“I know, because you’ve been drinking.” He said, hoping his arousal was not showing as clearly as hers.

“So have you.” She pointed out. 

“Yes - but I wasn’t at Babette’s all night before I came here. Hm, you’re still ahead of me.” He said, and the rational part of her mind knew he was right, because as much as she really, truly wanted him, she was drunk, and Richard was a good man who would feel as if he had taken advantage. 

That was the rational part of her brain, it was the irrational part that chose to speak next: 

“You know this bed?” She said, moving her wrists out of his grasp to run her hands up his forearms, he looked at it and nodded, “I thought about you in it every night since we last saw each other.” Her voice was low, and her lips pouted, and his lips twitched as he looked at her, her words like a lit fuse down to below his belt. 

“I-“ he began, and words failed him, she just raised her eyebrows at him impishly, “you’re cruel.” He said, smiling a bit. “I can’t take the bait.” Putting his hands on his arms, he moved her a couple of steps away from him 

Ada sighed huffily, and tucked her hair behind her ears, being away from his body heat at least let her clear her head for second. The room was feeling slightly swimmy though. When he seemed to decide something and began to leave the room, she was a little embarrassed by her horrified reaction.

“Where are you going?” She asked, sounding far more desperate than she had meant to. Had he found her too pushy? Did she kiss badly? Was her teasing too frustrating to him?

“To get you a glass of water.” He said simply, and she saw a bit of amusement on his face as he left the room.   
 Ada let out a breath, and looked at her made bed, shuffling her thighs together. She didn’t think she’d ever had her advances rebuffed before, usually, she did not have to make advances at all, but, as she stood there in her room, a slight nausea washed over her, and she was glad that she hadn’t taken him into her bed impaired.

A part of her anatomy though was not glad, and was screaming at her to strip off and lay across the bed too naked and enticing for him to resist.

She did strip off, but she replaced her dress with a modest nightdress that was thin and sleeveless, but covered her chest and went halfway down her calves.

When Richard returned with the water, he thought she might have fallen asleep, lying as she was on the right side of her bed with her arm flung over her closed eyes. The nightdress clung too her body well enough that he could see the shape of her breasts and the little swell of her stomach. He heard his throat click as he swallowed, and gathered his composure to set the water down on her nightstand.

“Thank you, Richard, you’re too good to me.” She opened her eyes to look up at him, tired and wan.

He nodded. “You’re welcome.” 

“Please, don’t go home tonight, it’s too late and my couch is comfortable.” She said, her eyes dropping closed again.  
 “It’s no problem for me to go home.” He said, in honesty not relishing the thought of trudging back to the Artemis Club at 3am, tired and tipsy.

“I insist, you’ll make me feel awful guilty if you walk home at this hour.” She said, and cracked one eye open. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to sleep in the bed, so long as you won’t tell everyone what a wanton woman I am.”

Richard’s compulsion was to take off his shoes and fall face first into the comfortable looking bed beside her immediately, but he had more control over his compulsions than her.

“The couch is fine.” He said, watching her smile tiredly, and her eyes fell shut again.

“Take a blanket.” She murmured right as he stepped out of her bedroom door, smiling to himself, he picked up one the many folded on a nearby chair.


	5. Chapter 5

Richard had not anticipated being the second one awake the next morning, but at what the clock above her fireplace told him was 8:35am, he found himself laying across her couch under her blanket, mask off and on the coffee table beside him, on top of his folded clothes. He only knew she was awake because the door to the dining room was thrown open, and in the kitchen he could hear the muffled sound of her radio, and he could smell frying.

For a moment, as he sat up and put his glasses back on, he wondered with a feeling of dread if she had seen him sleeping, mask off, and was angry at himself for not just keeping it on and putting up with the discomfort. In his head he could just see her walking into the room and gasping in horror, he could see her clutch her stomach as it flipped over. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced towards the kitchen door to check if she was coming through it in that moment, before pulling on his trousers and suspenders. He wondered if she would mind him in his undershirt and socks, she didn’t seem like the type to mind.

Standing, he decided not to bother with fully dressing yet, surely after last night, there had to be some break down of propriety between them.

‘I thought about you every night in this bed,’ she had said to him, so suggestively. Aside from the kiss and the fact she had wanted more, that line was enough to give him difficulty falling asleep: it replayed over and over in his head, along with images of what could have happened if he’d let it.

In any case, he was too thirsty to avoid going to the kitchen any longer and he crossed the dining room to the source of the smell.

When he opened the door, the domestic picture that greeted him was almost dreamlike. Ada stood by the stove, spatula in hand, dressed in her long, silk, oriental looking robe, and she looked over her shoulder at him with a bright smile.

“Good morning.” She said, and turned back to her task, long, undone curls moving across her shoulders. The thought that occurred to him was sudden, but that he could not shake, was that this is what it would feel like to have a wife and a real home. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair.

“Good morning.” He nodded back to her, glad that she also was in a state of undress.

“I’m glad you’re up, I made yours first, didn’t want it to get cold.” She gestured to the plate on the smaller kitchen table that he had not noticed yet, and saw she had prepared him eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast. Next to the plate sat a glass of orange juice with a straw in it, and a cup of coffee with the same.

Richard smiled at the sentiment, and sat at his place. Still, she was in the room, and he was unsure how to proceed.

“Now,” she shovelled a couple of slices of bacon onto another plate, “I have a quick phone call to make up in my office, but you can start without me.” On her way by him, she touched his shoulder, and they both knew she had no phone call to make.

Richard was relieved, and once he heard her footsteps on the stairs, he removed his mask and set about his breakfast, taking a long sip of the juice and leaning his head back to swallow deeply, catching the spill in his other hand. Her kindness was becoming overwhelming to him, but his desire to scarper as he often did just was not there. How could he leave when she seemed to enjoy his company so much? When she looked at him like she did? When her house smelled like old wood and aged paper?

He would enjoy the morning while he could, because he would be expected back at the Artemis Club before it got too late.

Ada drifted back in the room, quite conveniently, just as he had put the mask back on.

“You’re quite the chef.” He complimented wryly.

Ada chuckled and picked up her own plate and coffee, sitting down adjacent to him at the table. Their knees touched.

“I’m quite talented at throwing food in hot grease but I can do precious little else other than eat at restaurants.” She picked at the bacon on her plate, never really one for breakfast.

Letting out a sigh and moving the salty meat around her plate, she looked at him. “So, I suppose we should address my embarrassing behaviour last night.”

Richard had not expected her to talk about it, and just looked at her as she eyed him over her coffee cup.

“I- I understand. You were quite drunk.” He said and rubbed his palms on his trousers.

“No. I mean, yes, a little. But I get drunk around my male friends all the time, and I can promise you that I don’t kiss any of them, or… say some of the things that I said.” Her cheeks flushed. “That behaviour is specified to you.” For once, she had trouble meeting his eye.   
  
Richard swallowed deeply, and found himself dumbstruck by the implication.

“But I am sorry if I embarrassed you.” She went on. “Or if you would rather I hadn-“

“No.” He cut her off, and put his hand over hers on the table before he had chance to think about it. “I only chose not to take it any further because, hm, it wouldn’t have been right. Not because I didn’t want to.”

Looking down at the table, he wondered whether he should let go of her hand when she turned hers over and held his properly. He swallowed.

“So you did want to?” Ada confirmed, quietly, daring to look him in the eye. The look of vulnerability he got from this woman who seemed always so confident pushed him to be honest.  
“You’re a very beautiful woman.” He said, and wished his throat hadn’t clicked after he said it. “I wanted to very much.”

She cleared her throat, and looked at their hands.  
  
“Well, I’d like to start again anyway, do things properly and slowly…”

“That sounds good.” He said with a nod, and was genuinely relieved, it would have to be slow for him to get used to the prospect of her being a possible fixture in his life.

For once, Ada held back on her urges, and did not climb into his lap and do exactly what they both wanted to do right there at the kitchen table.

Instead, she was content to eat breakfast with him, to chat before he had to leave for work, and to kiss his cheek goodbye at the door, missing his presence as soon as he left. The thought came back to Richard again, that this is what it would be like to have it all.

The door had barely been closed an hour, enough time for her to dress in case she needed to call at the shops, when someone was ringing the bell again, and she huffed and finished the sentence on her typewriter. It irritated her that the bell rang again as she rushed down the stairs, the impatience of it.

She answered the door, anticipating a telegram or some such, and certainly not one bit expecting to see her father, Michael Roth, in one of his half-shabby suits, a bunch of sad looking daffodils in his hand, beside Franklin, who already looked like he knew how much trouble he was going to be in.

“Sweetheart.” He greeted with a wide smile and his arms spread open. Ada set her jaw and crossed her arms.

“What do you want?” She asked flatly, raising her eyebrow.

“Is that any way to greet your father?” He asked in his thick Chicagoan accent, holding out the flowers to her, which she just about snatched impatiently.

“Probably not but I don’t see a father anywhere around here.” She said childishly. He practically rolled his eyes at her stubbornness, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his sweaty forehead.

“Come on, hun, you gonna let me in or what? It’s like a sauna out here.” That was certainly not going to happen, Ada thought as she dumped the daffodils on the sideboard behind her.

“Are you here for money? Because if you are just be out with it.” She waved her hand.

“No, I just wanted to see my clever baby girl.” He said with not one bit of convincingness.

Ada pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling warm and impatient. “Franklin, do you want to tell me what you’re doing here with my father and give me a straight answer or am I going to shut this door in your face and get back to work?”

“It’d be best if we came in.” Franklin said, worrying the brim of his hat. His sincerity actually took her aback, he was usually such and overconfident type, and Ada had to admit she had been somewhat curious if his Havana claims held any water.

It was supremely strange to have her father sitting at her kitchen table, the many she had not seen for close to five years, looking much like he did when she’d last seen him: only he was a little slimmer now, not as broad chested and she’d when she’d known him, and his hair was greying. There was an uncomfortable quiet in the room as she poured three cups of tea, until her father broke it with:“Don’t you got anything stronger?”

She rolled her eyes and looked at him bitterly.

“It’s ‘don’t you have,’ and you’re lucky you’re not getting tap water.” She irately set the cups down on the table and sat with a thud. “Out with it, I don’t have all day.”  
  
Sensing that there was quite clearly not going to be any heartwarming family reunion, her father clasped his hands on the table and got on with explaining the situation as it stood:

“I can get a large shipment of premium rum, I’m talking real, swilled round the mouth of a Cuban teenager rum,” Ada sighed at his phrasing, “Anyway, I can get a big shipment of this rum once a month onto the coast of Ventnor City, and from there, with the help of a couple large trucks, into New York.” He said, his eyes sparkling in a way that she recognised so well. “Can you imagine the dough a person can get from bringing in authentic rum from Havana?”

Ada sipped her tea. “I can imagine that kind of dough, I can also imagine the sound of your legs breaking when Nucky Thompson catches you bootlegging in his territory, I’m guessing you haven’t talked to Nucky Thompson?”

“Do you have any idea the kind of cut that guy takes?” Franklin asked, finally speaking up.

“I can imagine, but if I was going to do something illegal, dangerous and stupid, I’d at least take all the steps I could to avoid not getting my god damn legs broken.” She lit a cigarette.

“Forget Thompson.” Her father waved his hand, “We’re talking about Ventnor City, not Atlantic.”

“Look, I’m not pretending to be an expert on this shit but I definitely hear about it, and there no way that doesn’t fall into his boundaries. The guy’s not going to let you off on a technicality.” She took a long drag. “Besides all that, do you even know who to talk to in New York?”

“Do you underestimate me that much sweetheart?” Michael said as he bummed one of her cigarettes, ignoring her glare. “I got it all squared a way, you know I do my research.”  
  
“Actually you used to get me to do it for you.” She rolled her eyes. “So, you have the contacts, you know what you’re doing, why are you here? I seem to recall telling you I didn’t want to hear anything else about this.” She looked at Franklin pointedly.

“Well,” the younger man blanched under her stare, “You’ve already met our New York contact, Mr Rothstein, remember? He was quite taken with you.”

She laughed wryly. “I knew there was something behind that guy’s smarm, I guess that’s why he’s loaded.”

“Well, the guy’s the biggest fish out there, and we’re just starting out,” Franklin gestured to Michael, “We still gotta convince him that we’re worth working with, worth the risk.”

“Again, can we get to the part where I have anything to do with this?”

“You’re a beautiful girl, Ada, you’re smart and successful, he’s asked about you a few times, he was very interested to know you’re my daughter.” Her father took over, watching her frown at him over her cigarette. “Just to have you there at the meetings as an… associate, it would help him warm to us.”

Stubbing out the cigarette, Ada leaned on her forearms and looked at them angrily, feeling the hot flush up her neck.

“Associate, huh? Should I wear a suit, or a nightie? Should I sit on a chair or on his lap?” She snapped. “Leave, both of you.”

“Ada, it ain’t like that-“ Franklin tried to defend.

“Sure it isn’t.” She rolled her eyes and stood up. “You want me to flirt him into submission, make him think he has a chance if you get his business, hell, I bet you want me to give him the chance.”

“Give me some credit!” Her father stood too, looking genuinely quite affronted, which was a change from his usual blasé expression. “You think I’d ever want that for you? Come on, we need you there, yeah ‘cause he’s a little sweet on you, but also ‘cause you’re a better hustler than me. I wouldn’t have got anywhere in Chicago without you.”

“This isn’t running cons to squeeze a little cash out of dumb people, this is real stuff, pop, this is stuff that gets you right at the bottom of that ocean.” She gestured towards the window, her hair was flying out of its bun. “And, need I remind you, where you actually got in Chicago? Was it not broke and in prison?”

“I was set up and you know that, if that guy hadn’t-“

“Mother alone and dying with Joan and Miranda, and dealing with losing the boys in the war!” Her eyes welled up, she had not said it out loud for such a long time, she clutched her necklace and blinked her tears. “How dare you come here and make me think about these things?”

It bothered her that her voice cracked, and both the men were struck silent, her father at least having the decency to look at the floor.

“Just go, I told you I have work to do.” She gestured to the door, and slowly, they picked up their hats and headed into the hallway. Her father left without a word, but Franklin turned to her at the door.

“Ada, we really weren’t suggesting you do anything with Rothstein, I know you think I’m kind of a dick but, I wouldn’t want you doing something you didn’t want.” He put on his hat. “We really just wanted your help, okay? We’re taking this stuff serious.”

Ada glanced at her father scuffing his heals at the bottom of her porch, hands in his pockets, and shook her head, feeling suddenly sad for the man, for her family and everything that had happened.

“I’ll call you at the end of the week, don’t expect good news.” She said, and Franklin nodded with a look of understanding and left.

When the door closes behind her, she let out a long breath, and leaned back against it, thinking of the person she was back in Illinois, the things she liked to put to the back of her mind, and of Arnold Rothstein. 


	6. Chapter 6

A couple more days passed by, and she did not hear from Richard, though she assumed he had been working and too busy to come by. She hoped that was what it was, it was too painful for her to think that he may just have be tired of her. As usual, she spent most of her evenings writing and reading, or going to dinner and drinks with Mary and her friends.

The latter was becoming increasingly difficult, she found. Mary was her best friend, and Ada could never lose her fondness for her entirely, but these dinners where their companions would intellectualise and sneer about everything from literature to the war were wearing increasingly thin on her nerves.

A polite disagreement ended in her being uncharacteristically snappy one evening. When a university lecturer Franklin knew quite well had said:

“I mean, we pay all this money to veterans who got injured like half of them didn’t choose to go off to war in the first place, they knew the risks.” He shrugged.

“Oh, shut up.” Ada snapped, a few rums deep. There was a murmur of surprise and ‘hey now’ around the group at her obviously genuine irritation, Mary tried to quiet her. “What? I’m supposed to sit here and listen to a this guy talk about war like he knows anything about it?” She stood up now, pointing at the man.

People actually stood between them, like they were afraid she was going to punch him.

“Come on, just lively debate.” The man smirked a little, holding out his hand placatingly. Ada finished her drink, frown still on her brow, absolutely uncaring of the nicer establishment they were in. “You didn’t go to college, did you?” He said to her.

“No, and you never dared leave.” She said back. “C’mon, I’m done talking to this chump.” Ada picked up her purse and swung it on her shoulder messily. Mary stayed seated.

“You need to calm down Ada,” she chuckled nervously, clearly trying to diffuse the situation, “Peter was only trying to make a point.”

“Mhmm, point being every man that got his leg blown off deserved it for going there in the first place, huh?” She looked at the man, Peter, again.

“That’s a simplification.” Peter said, clearly missing that her temper was overruling her need for civilised debate. “My point would be that they were shooting at people, and they got shot at back, why should we pay for that?”

“Do you think the men that died deserved that too?” She said, ignoring his point. Mary tensed beside her, knowing exactly why she was asking that question and wishing she hadn’t.

“Peter, don’t-“ Mary quietly began, but Peter continued anyway.

“Yes, to an extent.” And before he could take an asinine sip of his drink, Ada had lunged for him, and was thankfully being held back by several sets of arms, yelling erupted, the barman telling them all to leave, friends in the group telling her to stop. Peter just looked shocked, and stood back with his hands up.

“Let me at the draft dodging piece of shit!” She struggled, but Franklin’s arm around her stomach was too strong, and she was dragged out.

It was the first near-fight she had got into in a while, and Mary showed up unannounced at her house the next day to talk.

“You should have seen Peter after you left, god I thought the man was going to sweat his shirt off.” She said with a little chuckle, pouring herself a vodka.

Ada reclined on her couch and sighed.

“I’m sorry for getting like that.” She said, “He just made me so damn angry.”

“I know dear.” Mary said with an over exaggerated tone of sympathy. It irked Ada, because Mary did not know, she had not had two brothers die before the age of 25, shot in the mud. Ignoring her budding irritation, and pushing the thought of her brothers to the back of her mind, Ada chose not to harp on the subject.

She looked up at a moment, noticing Mary looking at her closely.

“What?” She said with raised eyebrows.

“Who are you in love with?” Mary asked, a delighted smile on her face.

“What?” Ada said, puzzled, sitting up.

“You’re pink, and you keep staring into space, it must be a man.” Mary said like it was obvious. She had never had Ada’s skills of perception, but on this subject she was usually quite spot on. At the mention of it Ada’s mind went to Richard, and she could almost smell his tweed coat.

“It’s nothing.” She said, but couldn’t help the childish smile beginning to tug at her lips.

“Don’t lie! Tell me everything!” Mary tapped demandingly on the drinks counter where she still leaned.

“Alright. Remember the man from the Artemis Club, the caretaker? Dark hair, tall, glasses…” It was terribly oversensitive of Ada to not use his prime descriptor, but it felt wrong to do so.

Mary thought for a moment, pouting her lips and frowning. “The one with the mask?” She said after a while.

“Yeah.” Ada said, and wish she had not sounded so wistful. The condescending, and it was condescending, little ‘hm’ that Mary gave in response broke her from any reverie.

“What do you mean, ‘hm?’” She said, a little accusatorially.

“Well you always have had a soft spot for strays.” Mary said, and Ada felt her pulse pick up in her neck and her face get hot, her temper flaring up in her stomach.

“Don’t say that.” She said quietly with a shake of her head.

“Oh come on, don’t get all offended.” Mary laughed, walking round to stand in front of her. “You went around with that negro in Manhattan for weeks, became his best friend.”

“He wasn’t a stray either. He was my friend and a talented artist.” She was becoming more heated, but Mary seemed oblivious to it.

“It’s just a turn of phrase.” She waved her hand dismissively.

“No, it’s what you damn well meant.” Ada snapped, voice raising, and she stood up. Mary was now paying attention. “You think I see Richard as some sort of curiosity to drag around and show off to people how modern and kind I am. But that’s not who I am, Mary, I don’t see people as little gold brooches to wear on my hat.”

“Are you implying that’s who I am?” Mary sniped back.

“Isn’t that why you latched onto me? The poor, destitute writer who rose up out of mediocrity but still wasn’t afraid of a fight? How nice it was of you to civilise me.” She sneered. “You love that I almost got in a fight last night because it’s another little anecdote for you to pull out about your fascinatingly odd friends.”

Mary set down her glass haughtily and crossed her arms.

“That is entirely unfair and cruel, Ada.” She said firmly, and Ada’s stomach twisted, because it probably was. “I don’t understand why we’re fighting over some strange, half blasted out war veteran who works in a cathouse for Christ’s sake!”

Ada had to not speak for a moment, because her hands were actually shaking with rage. She should have known not to trust these people, these high society, flighty, ever-so-smart people who actually cared about no one.

“Get out.” She said flatly.

“What?” Mary exclaimed in disbelief.   
  
“You heard me, get out of my damn house, Mary. I’m sick of you.” Ada waved her arm towards the exit dismissively, and Mary stood with her mouth hanging open, half expecting a change of heart. When she did not get one, she picked up her purse and left, stomping down the hallway, and slamming the door shut behind her.

It was probably not a good idea to decide to call Franklin in the same angry state, but she did, and even as the phone rang she had no idea what she was actually going to say.

“Ada, I’m glad to hear from you.” He answered.

“I’m sure you are.” She said, pouring a rum. “Arrange a dinner with Rothstein, tell my father I might have another swindle in me yet.”

She heard his loud sigh of relief on the other end. “Jesus, Ada, that’s really gonna help us out.”

“Yeah well, don’t think I’m doing it for free.” She hung up, and sipped her drink. Whether it was the desire for another con, of sorts, to see if she still had it in her to charm and distract like she used to, she didn’t know, but she knew that underneath her vague sense of nerves, she was excited.

Over at the bordello, Richard was in the process of turfing out disgusting and overweight patron who had never learned the meaning of the word ‘no.’ It was waring, the man was too drunk to fight the strong hand bunching up the back of his jacket, and went out the door with very little work.

He was an incredibly patient man, he had to be; the memory of roof gravel digging into his elbows and just waiting, watching for hours and days on end, was as fresh at it was yesterday. However, it was proving particularly difficult to find the patience not to call Ada. The day before, one of the working girls who wasn’t too put off by his appearance had seen him looking ‘wistful’ in her words, and asked him if he was thinking about a woman. He’d just nodded.

“Well, you want my advice? Play hard to get, it drives us crazy.” She’d said.

“Really?” He’d asked, and she went on to explain how being too eager can be a turn off. It was the only feminine advice he was going to get, and he took it, but he still found himself pausing at the phone in the main hallway every time he walked by.

Oddly enough, it was when he was on a pass by it that the front door opened, and the very person that had filled his thoughts so fully stood shadowed by the dying daylight. It was probably just in his head, but he swore he could already smell her from where he stood.

“Say, mister, you wouldn’t happen to know wear I can find a little comfort for the night would you?” She joked, and when the door closed he could see her properly, dressed up for an evening out and smiling at him like she always did.

“This isn’t the type of establishment for someone of - your stature.” He put his hands in his pockets out of nerves and walked towards her as she did toward him.

“I don’t know, the lady upstairs sounds like she’s having a good time.” She chuckled, and he realised he’d started to tune out the sound of frantic moaning and creaking bedsprings. His cheeks felt hot that she was so unperturbed by it.

“Hm.” Was all he replied, she was right in front of him, and he could definitely smell her perfume now.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.” She cocked her head and raised her eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m here because usually I can’t get men to stop calling me, and now I’m practically waiting by the phone and it doesn’t ring.” She shrugged, he could see the playfulness dancing in her eyes. She was definitely, honest-to-god, flirting with him, even he could feel it.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head, unconsciously rubbing his fingers together with nerves. It was bad enough thinking about their kiss when they were apart, never mind when she was right in front of him with her red lips and rouged cheeks.

“Don’t be, I was only joking.” She said, then seemed to reconsider. “Well, half joking.”

He swallowed deeply. “You look- very nice.”

It was her turn to be bashful, smiling and looking down at her black dress, sleeveless and short, draped over her like everything else she wore.

“Thank you. I’m on my way to dinner with my father and an associate of his actually.” She said, swallowing the dryness in her throat she felt at the prospect.

“Your father? I thought he was in prison?” They moved to a threadbare red couch that sat against the wall of the hall. Upstairs, the headboard continued to smack into the wall rhythmically.

“Not anymore.” She let out a long sigh. “He’s back and up to some other scheme, I’m just going along to the dinner to make sure he doesn’t end up flapping his gums and getting himself into trouble like her normally does.”

Richard noticed her chewing on the inside of her lip, her mirth had faded some.

“You look troubled.” He said, unsure if he could put his hand on hers. They did that last time.

“I just promised myself I wasn’t going to see him again, even if he did get out. I just like to leave Chicago where it is.” She said. “I mean, ‘home’ is nice a concept in theory right? But it just reminds you of all the things that should have been better and weren’t. I can’t look at him without thinking about my family, and…”   
  
Seeing her beginning to look upset, he instinctively put his hand on her shoulder, and she looked at him warmly.

“Anyway, I only wanted to say hello on my way by and tease you a little.” She smiled again, clearly quick to drop the subject. “And I’ve been told I’m quite a demanding woman, so I thought I would go along with that role.”

Squeezing his hand, she turned to face him fully. “So, Mr Harrow, I demand that you call me tomorrow, and ask me out on a date.”

He flushed again, feeling much younger than he was, and chuckled a bit, looking at her small pale hand in his.

“What are the consequences - if I don’t?” He joked back and relished her wolfish grin.

“Oh you don’t even want to find out.” She responded lowly, and pecked his cheek before rising from her seat. “Until tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until he got back to his room and looked in the mirror that he noticed the red lipstick on his cheek. He let it set there for a while.


	7. Chapter 7

If Arnold Rothstein had nothing else going for him, which Ada in fact suspected he did, he at least was an impeccable dresser. When they stepped into the restaurant, which buzzed with conversation and clinking glasses, and clearly was not suffering the effects of prohibition, the over-polite maître d’ took her name and shrug, and lead her to the table where Rothstein, her father, and Franklin already sat. On this particularly day, the affluent businessman was clad in a deep purple suit and matching bowtie, a silk handkerchief neatly in his top pocket. He wore it well, Ada had to say, even if bowties did remind her of a little boy going to a wedding.

The three men stood when she approached the table, and she switched on her bright smile, and coquettish look of obliviousness of how closely Rothstein was regarding her. He was subtle himself, she could already tell he was not going to be one of those types to pull her on his lap and squeeze her behind first chance he got. Ada had never had much patience for that.

“Nice to see you sweetheart.” Her father greeted and she kissed his cheek, then Franklin’s.

“You look lovely Ada.” Franklin said, squeezing her elbow gently in thanks when she pulled back. “You’ve met Mr Rothstein before briefly, Mr Rothstein, Ada Schiller.”

“Oh, I remember quite well thank you.” She reached out her hand, which Rothstein took, and pressed is (thankfully dry) lips to the back of. “Pleasure to see you again Mr Rothstein.”

“Please, me Arnold.” He pulled out the seat beside him for her to sit on, which she did so politely, and everyone else sat.

“Only if I don’t hear any ‘Ms Schiller,’ Ada will do.” Promptly, she gestured for the waiter. “Could I get a whiskey rocks please?”

“Of course. I was intrigued by that, actually. Your father goes by Roth and you by Schiller, are you married?” He asked, glancing briefly at her bare left ring finger.

From a mile off, Ada could spot someone being nosy but disguising it as polite interest. If she could see inside his head, perhaps shine a light in his ear and watch the cogs of his brain turn, she would see that he was attempting to needle her about their relationship. Did she hate her father? Was he untrustworthy?

“No, I started to use Schiller as a pen name, my publisher suggested that it was fine for me to have something that sounded German, but it should be a little less ‘obviously Jewish.’” She chuckled with mirth, shaking her head. It was a true story, that one, and she knew she should remind him that she and her father had that in common with him. “And trust me, if I was married, I doubt my husband would like me to keep company like Franklin.” She joked.

Thankfully, because she had no idea if the man had a sense of humour, he laughed, and as did the other two.

“Now, I think if you gentlemen are going discuss business, it should not be without food in our stomachs and cigarettes in our hands.” She took her own case out of her handbag, and placed one between her painted red lips. Arnold watched that action, and promptly reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver monogrammed lighter, lighting it for her. They met eyes for a second, she made sure they did, before she sat back and let them speak.

Every now and then while they discussed logistics, and her father tried to seem as legitimate and charming as he could, and Franklin did the same, that the was occasionally less convincing than the former, he seemed nervous and occasionally tried too hard, but Ada could not catch his eye to instruct him to be calm. In honesty, it was hard to blame Franklin for his nervous, she was not a woman easily intimidated, but Rothstein did cut a rather quietly dangerous image. From what she was able to find out about him over the past couple of weeks, he was at the top of the game in New York, and had millions to his name, and one did not get in that type of position by being very nice.

“Bottom line is this: these friends I got in Havana, they trust me, we’ve been friends for years and they got connections that you wouldn’t believe, all I need is the transportation: boats and trucks.” Her father said in a serious cadence.

“And on this I am supposed to take your word? I should finance cargo ships and long voyages, trucks, warehouses, on the word of a man who got out of prison not two years ago, and another I only took a first meeting with because of my relationship with his father?” Arnold Rothstein was nothing if not eloquent and straight to the point. Ada often forgot that Franklin had a rich father who financed his living and parties.

“What if they finance the first trip themselves?” Ada suggested, taking a long drag of her cigarette. The three looked at her in surprise. “I don’t pretend to be an expert on such matters, but surely if they can bring a shipment of a size that would be enough to prove to you the worth of their claims, you may be more inclined to do business.”

Pointedly ignoring the vague looks of discomfort on the faces of Franklin and her father, she focussed instead on Rothstein turning more fully to face her, the corners of his mouth quirking almost imperceptibly.

“Excuse my surprise,” he said, touching his chest, “I’m rather unused to doing business around ladies, especially ones that can sound like rather convincing businessmen.”

Patronising, but she smiled anyway and flicked some ash into the tray. She had turned slightly on her chair so her crossed legs were moved more into his personal space, and her body faced him even when she did not; she cold smell his aftershave, so she knew he could smell her perfume.

“I’m only thinking aloud,” she shrugged, looking over at her father, “I’m sure you can finance the one trip, huh pop?”

She made sure he caught the pointed look in her eye.

“Of course, not a problem.” He said, and Franklin took a rather large gulp of his liquor. Arnold seemed to consider this for a moment, glancing from the men, back to Ada, who kept her expression of calm nonchalance.

“Then perhaps we do have something to discuss.” He said finally. The other two men seemed to deflate with relief.

“If the conversation is going to continue a while longer, then I think I’ll call it a night.” Ada said, she had certainly done her part to warm things up, and absolutely did not want more involvement in the nitty gritty of it. “If someone would like to walk me to the cab line?”

“Please, take my car, my driver will take you.” Arnold said, standing and clicking his fingers for the maître d’ to bring her shrug.

“Oh I don’t want to impose.” She said as he took the shrug for her and guided it onto her shoulders.

“I insist.” He said, as she knew he would. She kissed her father and Franklin goodbye, whispering that she would call them, and allowed Arnold to place his hand on her lower back as he guided her out of the restaurant.

Again, the air outside was none much cooler than in, but she was glad for it anyway. People were looking, she noticed, he was the kind of man that attracted interested if weary glances, and she had no doubt that by the morning, Mary would know that she had been seen leaving a restaurant with his hand on her back.

“You were attracting some attention in there Mr Rothstein.” She said, as they approached his car.

“I highly doubt I was the one attracting attention with you in that dress.” He said, and it was the first time he had outwardly complimented her appearance, she looked bashful and smoothed down the skirt. “Thank you for coming along tonight, I enjoyed the pleasure of your company.”

“As did I, thank you for the invitation.”

He reached to open the car door, but then reconsidered and retracted his hand.

“Let me ask you something Ada.” He said and clasped his hands in front of him. “You seem like you know what you’re talking about more than I’d have thought, I might even say smarter than the two gentlemen I’m about to go back in and speak to, if that doesn’t offend.”

“It doesn’t.” She said. Ada had not expected this, for once she was not sure where the conversation was going. “I’m always happy to hear about how intelligent and charming I am.”

“And funny to boot,” he chuckled, “what I wanted to ask you was: is this a deal I should take? Would you honestly recommend your father as a business partner?”

Oh, he wanted honesty, or, he wanted to see if she was a terrible liar. For a moment, she chewed the inside of her mouth and considered her answer. The dinner was her end of the bargain, being their and being pretty was all she had to do, and she had done it, so she would be honest.

“My father is not a genius, he is never going to be a millionaire, he is never going to lead a huge business.” She said. “But he is also not a fool, he may act it at times, but he truly isn’t. When he’s invested, and he’s determined, he can truly be an asset, and I can tell he’s invested here.” Letting out a long breath and glad he seemed to be listening, she continued. “And, in my experiences, negative and positive, he delivers on his promises.”

There was a long moment where he seemed to consider her, he seemed to be reading her face for signs of dishonesty.   
“You’re quite fascinating.” He said, with a tone not of wistfulness or lust, but complete honesty. That almost made her blush, which in turn rather made her stomach drop. “Will I see you again?”

Mentally, she juggled the desire to keep him sweet but not to seem genuinely interested. If she was being completely truthful, she would say she could see him being the type of man she was friends with, there was a respectability to him even if his choice of career was rather questionable, to say the least. She also got the impression that he would have little interest in being friends with her.

“I’m always around.” She said noncommittally, but with a little smile. “And if you don’t see me then you can always buy one of my books and continue the fasciation.”

“I just might do that.” He finally opened the car door for her, and she stepped closer to him to get inside. “Goodbye for now." He tipped his hat.

Leaning in and hoping he wouldn’t turn his head, she pecked his cheek gently, and got in. He shut the door for her and she waved through the glass as the car pulled away.


	8. Chapter 8

It took Richard a while to get up the nerve to call the number Ada had given him, but he knew that he was at a point of no return with her. He enjoyed is time with her too much, and thought of her too constantly to let his insecurity get the better of him. She agreed eagerly to another outing, to the cafe and bookshop she liked, and the next time to the pictures, until asking her was not difficult at all.

It got to the point where spending time together became like routine. He would finish his work for the day and eat in his room, then go to her house for drinks. Sometimes, they barely even talked, she would bring her typewriter onto the coffee table, and he would read while she wrote. Other days, they spoke constantly, until he was sure there was almost nothing she did not know about him. As much as she talked, he realised she could be cagey with her information, particularly when it came to her father and siblings.

On 1st July, a day where he was apparently feeling particularly courageous, and she visited his room for once at the club, he took out his scrapbook.

“Wow,” Ada said, “I can’t believe you never told me you do this.” She seemed quite in awe as he opened it to a page he had marked for himself. To hand it over and let her look at everything would be too much yet.

Dressed in one of her usual floaty black dresses, hair messily up, she sat cross legged on his bed and he sat beside her, arms just touching.

“I wanted to show you Emma. You always ask how alike we look.” He placed the book on his lap and she looked over his shoulder.

There was only one picture on the spread of two pages, stuck on the left. It was of a young, raven haired woman with fair skin and very familiar eyes, wearing simple clothing and standing on the porch steps of a large country house.

“Oh my, what a beauty.” Ada said honestly, touching the page with her fingertips. “You two do look just alike.” Richard watched her stare at the picture in wonder.

“She has our mother’s chin, I got our father’s.” He said, looking at the picture himself, and feeling a faint pull in his stomach towards home.

“A strong chin.” Ada said with a small smile, reaching up to touch it with her thumb. She often touched him like this, easy and intimate, but they had nothing more than rather chaste kisses since the night of their heated and alcohol fuelled interaction. “Are there any pictures of you in here?” She asked tentatively.

Richard nodded. “Yes.”

“Can I see?”

He breathed through his nose and considered it, she knew that she was potentially asking a lot, and he had to decide if her reaction could do anything other than hurt him. After a moment of her chewing the inside of her mouth and watching him war with himself, he thumbed through the pages until he found the official picture of him in his uniform, and opened it fully for her to see.

Ada fought off a gasp at the picture, and she felt her heart race. It had never been any question in her mind that he was a beautiful man, but to see him uninjured was both strangely delightful and heartbreaking. The reality of what had been taken away from him was almost too much, it made her throat constrict, and she had to speak before her silence hurt his feelings.

“You look like a movie star in this.” She said on an outward breath, reaching to touch the picture. “I’m very lucky to be sitting on this bed with you.”

Richard laughed wryly at her joke, not really looking at her.

“I don’t look like that anymore.” He said and his lips twitched a bit.

“No,” she said pensively, and put her hand on his cheek, making him look at her, “but you don’t have to look like that to be handsome, Richard. You still look the same here.” She ran her fingertip over his stubble.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw - what’s under here.” He said with a shake of his head, eye on her lap. Perhaps the scrapbook had been a mistake.

“I would like to.” She said softly. The subject only came up when there was the opportunity to eat together, and he would politely decline, and she would not insist.

Richard swallowed deeply and his throat clicked: he had to look away from her gaze again. He knew it would come to this, eventually, that she would have to see all of him, and he could not envision a world where she would be anything other than disappointed at best. Ada always looked at him with such brightness and affection that he feared to see her repulsion of fear would be more than he could take.

“But I won’t make you.” She said, soothingly. Ada was always soothing.

He swallowed again and ran his tongue over the wrecked side of his mouth to ensure no saliva had pooled in the corner. If this was going to happen, he wanted it to be as dignified and pleasant as it could possibly be. Ada felt herself holding her breath while he unhooked the wire of his glasses from behind his ears, and slowly removed the mask from his face.

Yes, it was worse than she had thought. The image she had in her head had changed, but she assumed it would be much like horrible burn injuries she had seen, and that his eye would be there but blue white, or maybe always shut.

She would never, ever, tell him, but a horror did grip her for a moment when she saw the empty eye socket, the harsh cheek scarring and the half missing lips. It made sense to her most clearly why he did not want to eat in front of her, because she could see that his teeth were somewhat exposed.

But, truly, after the initial shock wore off, she could see nothing other than Richard, the man who would walk with the sun in his eye so she didn’t have to, and that would let her ramble for hours about her writing and never seem to get bored. Richard, who she was now sure that she was falling in love with.

When she did not speak for a while, he was sure that she must have been disgusted, but he could not look at her and confirm it.

“You’re beautiful.” She said, softly still, and he looked at her send him a little smile, unbroken tears in her eyes before leaning into kiss him in the middle of his mouth, simple as that, as if she hadn’t said the two words he would never thought he would hear in honesty again. They must have been honest, because if Richard knew anything it was that Ada was not cruel, and was not a liar.

He felt the need to talk, to ask her how she could possibly think that, but all he could do was hold the sides of her face and press their lips more tightly together, closing his eye and trying to forget how exposed he was. The scrapbook fell to the wood floor when he adjusted to sit on the bed more fully, and he put a hand beside her to lean his body against her a little more. Ada gladly looped her arms round his neck and let him guide her onto her back, laying his long body over her as she uncrossed her legs to bring them either side of him. When her tongue touched his bottom lip, and went past his teeth to touch his own, he let out a low groan from his throat that he could not stop.

When she moaned in response, smiled against his mouth, and hooked a leg round his hips, he ground himself against her and reached down to feel her thigh, pushing up her dress so he could touch where her skin was exposed above her stockings. God, she was as soft as she looked, it destroyed him. He hadn't done this for a long time, and that hadn't been like this, one of the girls was being paid, and the other was falling down drunk, and he had not gone any further than the sloppy kisses she gave. This was much, much different than what Jimmy had thought he needed; Jimmy thought he just needed to have sex, to have some woman to put himself in and move on. He did not need that, he needed this, someone fully sober, and happy, and clinging to him because she wanted to. 

They pulled apart for air, both breathing heavily, and she looked at him with nothing but wanting, her mouth hanging open slightly and her face and neck pink. He was sure he must have looked much the same.

When she bit her bottom lip, and smoothed his dark hair away from his forehead, lightly scraping his scalp, he had to lean back down and press his mouth to her neck, making her shudder and say his name in such a deeply erotic way he wanted to take her immediately.

There was suddenly the sound of the door being both knocked on and opened and the same time, and both, like teenagers being caught by parents, scrambled apart. Ada tugging down her dress and Richard moving off her.

“Tommy.” He said with some confusion, his voice even rougher than usual, and Ada, very flustered, looked at the small figure in the doorway, a little boy of no more than five or six years old stood with a little frown, dressed in smart shorts and cap. Richard hurried to put on his mask, though the child seemed unbothered “What are you doing?”

“Were you kissing?” Tommy asked, in a childish accusatory tone of disgust. Ada chuckled, and shuffled off the edge of the bed, covering her legs with her dress and wishing her heartbeat would slow down.

“No.” Richard said immediately, and Ada had to purse her lips to keep from laughing. “We were just talking.”

“I’m Richard’s friend Ada. He’s told me all about you.” She said brightly, and he just nodded at her.

“What did you want, Tommy?” Richard asked him again, standing up to shut the bedroom door behind him and adjusting the waist of his trousers. Clearly Tommy’s arrival had thrown cold water on what she had felt pressing against her moments ago, because she couldn’t resist a glance to check.

“Meemaw says you have to take me to the pictures today.” He said simply, making himself comfortable in Richard’s desk chair. Richard sent Ada a look, but she was just enjoying the interaction.

“I have to?” Richard said and nudged Tommy’s shoulder. “Is she busy?”

The boy nodded and Richard let out a sigh, looking at Ada apologetically where she still sat on the bed. He was clearly oblivious to how lovely it was for her to watch them interact like that.

“Do you like Buster Keaton?” Ada asked, cocking her head to the side, knowing for a fact that he did because Richard had mentioned it to her in the past. The little boy nodded again, quite excitedly, clearly not much of a talker. “Me too! Well I think that settles it, we should go see the new Buster Keaton, and Mr Harrow told me he’s going to buy us cotton candy after.”

“Cotton candy's my favourite.” Tommy said, smiling gladly now, looking between Richard and Ada. When Richard raised his eyebrow at her teasing, she just looked at him expectantly, just like Tommy was. “Can I really have it before dinner?”

“I guess that’s what I said.” Richard said, playing along. “Go on then, get your jacket - and hat.”  
  
“Yay!” Tommy exclaimed giddily, running out of the room.

“Yay!” Ada repeating, grinning, walking over to Richard and putting her arms round his waist . “Thanks for the cotton candy Mr Harrow, you’re too much.”

He shook his head at her, breathing a little laugh out of his nose, and tucked her hair behind her ears for her, her cheeks were still pink from before. 

“You’re going to get me in trouble.” He said, enjoying how she had to tilt her chin up to look at him.

“That’s the plan.” She stood on her tiptoes and pecked his lips again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I know I was away for like, ever, but I'm back and I've dropped five chapters at once! The story is all planned out in my head, and there's another chapter written and ready to go, I'm gonna be real with you, it's got sex in it and I'll hold it hostage until you drop some comments letting me know people are still around reading this, (I am 52% joking).
> 
> But for real, I'd love to know if anyone's still bothered about this story, I still am, and sorry for being away for so long. 
> 
> Happy 2018!

It only occurred to Ada after her trip to the movies with Richard and Tommy that she had forgotten how much she enjoyed the company of children, and how lovely it had been to watch Richard interact with the child. He had an ease about it, walking around with his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, indulging his childish ramblings and never running out of patience for him. It made her even more attracted to him honestly, to see him that way, that somewhat primitive sense that he would make a good caregiver to their children.

She tried her best to snuff out that train of thought, but she could not help it, it was like he was being intentionally endearing by showing what a good father he would be.

Her attraction to him that day was only intensified by them being disturbed that morning, and the fact that she had not being able to get the press of his lithe body out of her head and the feel of his mouth on her neck. It had been too quick, she had needed more. Throughout the day he was more bold with her than he usually was, putting his arm round her shoulders and lacing their fingers together when he walked her home.

The day after, she got a phone call from Mary apologising for insulting her, crying, as she seemed to do all the time, and Ada apologised back for losing her temper and that was that. She knew her ulterior motive in calling was to get her to go to Babette’s 4th July party, and Ada accepted. She would not forget what Mary had said in a hurry, but Ada was well practiced in forgiving and not forgetting.

It took a little coaxing to get Richard to go with her, he was never much for those big parties, but he agreed when she jokingly threatened get word to Arnold Rothstein that she was free, she had mentioned his interest in her, and found his scowl both amusing and a little exciting. However, that joke had been the only mention she had made of Rothstein, she did not go into detail the conversation they had had, or the situation with him and her father. It felt too messy, she wanted to wash her hands of the whole thing.

Ada took her time getting ready that evening, opting for a strappy little deep green dress that showed off her legs and décolletage better than she usually went for, clinging to her upper body and falling loose and flowing below the waist. She sprayed her favourite perfume behind her ears and on her neck, and did her hair up in a bun, just loose enough so some strands fell round her ears, so Richard could tuck them back like she knew he liked to.

Her skin was prone to dryness, and she was glad it was behaving on this particular night as she applied her makeup meticulously. By the time Richard arrived, she was entirely ready, and would never reveal the hours she had taken about it.

His reaction might have been worth it though, eyes flitting up and down her a few times, taking her in. Ada noticed a little intake of breath he took, and she flushed at the unspoken compliment. He was not the only one who was taken aback: he wore a deep green suit, a colour he seemed partial to and brought out his colouring, which was far better fitted and expensive looking that what he usually wore, even including a pocket watch chain tucked across his waistcoat. Under his right arm, he held his hat, and in the crook of his left was a bouquet of assorted tulips.

“My lord.” She was genuinely flustered. “You look fantastic.”

“Hm, thank you,” he blushed, looking down, “you look beautiful.” He kissed her cheek and handed her the flowers.

“Did I tell you I love tulips or did you guess?” She asked, gesturing him inside and going through to her kitchen just while she filled the sink halfway to keep her flowers fresh until she returned.

“You told me a couple of days ago about wanting to go to Amsterdam.” He stood in the doorway of her kitchen, watching her.

“Well I do, but I can’t for the life of me remember talking about it.” She said with a furrow of her brow.

“You talk a lot.” He said, and she laughed and batted his chest with the back of her hand.

They went to leave again, and she paused for just a moment to check her reflection in the full length mirror near her door, Richard stood behind her, and watched her pout her lips and dab at the lipstick at the corner of her mouth. She smiled at him in the reflection.

“Look,” she said, “we match.”

Richard straightened his jacket and regarded them both, her fancy deep green dress and his suit. She looked beautiful, perfect, and, strangely enough, just right on his arm.

“Hm.” He said, and she took his arm and they left.

When they arrived at Babette’s, the swell of people was more than she had seen since New Year on the boardwalk, and the party atmosphere on this particular night was infectious. She could see that Richard was not entirely at ease, seeming to keep his head down as she led him through the crowd, hand in hand, until they approached the door of the supper club.

He leaned down to speak in her ear over the noise. “There’s a line.”

She just turned back and grinned at him, moving by the long queue of people to the front, where Babette herself stood, dressed in her usual suit and top hat, made up to the nines.

“Ada!” The woman held out her arms and the women embraced. “Bringing a little class to my establishment tonight?”

“I hope so.” Ada beamed, and Richard put his hands in his pockets behind her.

“Well, let me see you.” Babette took Ada’s hand and spun her. “Let me know if you need to borrow my cane to keep the men off you.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Ada replied, looking back at Richard who nodded at Babette, lips twitching to a nervous half-smile.

“Oh,” a mild look of surprise registered on her face, but she recovered quickly, “well, you and this tall drink of water have a good time.” She winked and stepped back to let the couple in. Ada laced her fingers with Richard’s again and they walked inside together, into the heady smell of booze, and perfume, and cologne.

Ada’s interaction with Babette reminded him of who she was, because as glittering and wonderful as she was when they were alone, it was easy to forget that she was known by so many people, the type of people that Richard had barely even spoken to. He could barely speak at all, and she charmed people like she wasn’t even trying.

“Are you drinking tonight?” She asked him as they approached the bar.

“Yes. Think I’ll need it.” He said. “Go find your friends. I’ll bring you a rum.”

“You know me too well.” She smiled, and pecked his cheek before making her way back through the crowd.

Mary found her first, she always seemed to have a special talent for spotting people in a crowd, and the blonde tugged her wrist over to her usual group of people, including Franklin and George. Mary hugged her for a long time, and Ada humoured her. It had been strange not to see her friend for the week, and she knew she had a tendency to speak without thinking.

“Is he with you now?” She asked immediately, giddily.

“Yes, he’s just getting our drinks.” She stood on her tip toes to look over at the bar, and could just about see the back of his head.

“Who’s this he?” George asked nosily, raising his eyebrow.

“Ada’s new squeeze.” Mary put her arm round Ada’s waist and tickled her side, making her laugh and push her away with a swear.

“Oh, the war veteran? Mary said you’re quite enamoured.” The woman on Franklin’s arm said, Ada could not really remember what she was called, and it was too late to ask. Franklin himself looked rather distracted, staring off into space.

Ada’s cheeks almost flushed at having been talked about, but she brushed it off, only mildly irritated.

Richard was glad for his height as he scanned over the crowd for her, he spotted her in the group of people she had been with at the Artemis Club, head thrown back in a laugh and Mary saying something in her ear. Holding up their drinks high, he made himself through the crowd, as not to slosh alcohol on someone’s dress or suit.

As he approached them, he was not entirely sure of how to introduce himself. Her friend? Her companion? She answered the question for him by moving under his arm and putting her own behind his back, encouraging him to put his arm round her shoulder, which he did.  
  
“Speak of the devil.” A man Richard did not know the name of said brightly as he handed Ada her drink, which she took a grateful sip from.  
  
“This is Richard, my date.” She smiled up at him, seemingly uncaring of the little glances exchanged when they saw the reality of what he looked like.

“Nice to meet you Richard, George Gerwig.” One of the men said politely. “How’d the two of you meet?”

“Where I meet all my dates, Johnathan, in a cathouse.” She said and they all chuckled.

“Truly?” A dark haired woman asked.

“Yes, one of Franklin’s gaudy parties.” Mary rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t a patron.” Richard said, and his joke made them laugh, which relaxed him a little bit. They went back to their conversations, mostly about subjects that Richard really did not have anything to say about, but Ada did not move from under his arm, and would smile up at him just to remind him she was there.

“Quite a catch you got there, Richard.” Another of the men said after a while.

“Hm,” Richard nodded, “I know.”  
  
“If I had a nickel for every man she’d turned down.” Mary commented into her drink. Ada shook her head.

“I’m very lucky.” Richard said, fully aware of what they were all thinking. If she had turned down all these great men, why was he the one with his arm round her?

Ada frowned a bit, and moved tighter to him.

“You’re not the only one who’s lucky.” She said, looking up at him, and he looked down at her, chest swelling, the people watching suddenly not mattering. Ada held his tie gently, and tugged him down for a quick kiss.  
  
Richard could only look at her in slight shock when she turned back to her group. The music picked up to liveliness, and he could see that she was blushing too.

“We’re going to go dance, I love this number.” And she took his hand and lead him to the dance floor without looking back. The floor was full, couples dancing lively and close together, more risqué than they would on any other night in any other place. Strong liquor had a tendency to do that to people, the the summery atmosphere of 4th July only intensified the attitude.

When she turned back to him, and looped her arms round his neck, she laughed a bit.

“I’m sorry to make a spectacle of you, but those people are gradually getting on my nerves.” She said, and he moved their hands to the right positions, catching her look of slight surprise that he was leading her on this. Hand on his shoulder, his on her waist, the other hands held away from them.

“It’s alright.” They began to dance, stepping to the beat lazily, but well, having little room to manoeuvre in the crowd.

“I hate that they don’t know how great you are though. It’s not fair.” She rubbed her thumb on his shoulder.

“I only care - what you think.” He told her honestly, because it was true.

She smiled, and moved her face a bit closer to his.

“What I think is that you’re better at this than me.”

“I am very talented.” He said to make her laugh, and she did.

They danced like this for a while, and the song picked up pace and people moved closer together, dancing more lively and pressing in tighter. Ada joined them, giggling as he clearly became more uncomfortable at her looping her arms round his neck backwards and pressing her back into him, before spinning in his arms again to face him.

“Are you more of a waltz man?” She chuckled shuffling her shoulders.

“Yes.” He said, but took her hand to spin her, making her giggle, and when he pulled her into his arms and pressed her against his hip so he could dip her, it took all he had not to press his lips to the neck and chest it exposed.  
  
He lifted her up again, her delighted and flushed expression giving him the confidence to pull her back into his arms and dance at her pace. Her hair was flying more and more out of it’s bun, and he liked it that way, and when she would move her head to the music the flyaways would whip over her face. It mattered less and less if anyone was looking at him, because the music was good, and her body was soft, and as long as she was smiling at him he really did not care about anything else.

They danced for a long time, she never seemed to get tired, or bored, and he was not going to be the one to spoil her fun. However, the suit was beginning to make him sweat, and he was glad when everyone was interrupted with a shout.

“Everyone!” Babette stood up on a table, tapping her cane. “Fireworks start in five minutes! Fill your hip flasks!”

Raucous laughter set off, and people actually did take her advice before rushing back outside to the boardwalk, crowding by each other like giddy children into a sweet shop. When he looked at her, he expected her to roll her eyes at their silliness, but she was still caught up in the fun, slightly out of breath, and she grinned at him and took his hand tightly.

“Come on! I don’t want to miss it.” She rushed out of the bar with the rest, pulling him behind her and back out into the warm night air. “I want to get into a good spot.”

Richard did not wait for her prompting to put his arm over her shoulder, and it gratified him that she moved into it.

“You know, fireworks go up pretty high, we could probably see them from your house.” He teased as they went down a set of stairs to the beach.

“Yes, smartass, but I would like to see them from the beach with my guy.” She started to take off her shoes when they stepped onto the sand. Pausing for a moment, she wiggled her toes in the cold sand and shivered in delight at the feeling.

He paused for a moment at her phrasing, and was not feeling self-conscious enough to ignore it.

“Your guy?” He said, picking up her shoes for her and carrying them on his fingers. He swallowed before he asked. “Does that make you my girl?”

Ada’s eyes twinkled as she looked over at the sea for a moment, and the way everyone was cast in shadow against the moonlight.

“If you want me to be.” Her voice was low, and she looked at him with that quiet intensity that pinned him.

“I do.” His throat clicked. “Very much so.”

Again, she took his hand in hers. Her skin was soft.

“That’s that then.” She said, and they found a spot by the supports of the boardwalk, among groups of other couples and friends. Richard took off his suit jacket and lay it on the ground for them to sit on, and she sat lounging with her back against his chest.

“Should’ve grabbed a bottle ourselves.” Richard said, nodding at the couple in front of them who were busy pouring out a bottle of liquor into little white cups.

“No. I want to remember everything tonight.” She said wistfully and put her hand on his bent knee. He had no doubt that he would.

When the fireworks went up, Ada ‘ooh’d’ and clapped with the rest of them, and Richard found himself watching the lights dance on her face and in her eyes. There, in the dark and the crowd, they were just another couple on the beach, but he knew that none of them loved each other like he loved her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature content ahead, the good kind.

Ada did not put her shoes back on the way home, much to his dismay and insistence that she was going to cut her feet, she told him that he should try wearing high heels one day and that she would be fine, and promptly stubbed her toe painfully on the curb. She punched his arm when he gloated.

Soon enough he found himself in her bedroom, but for that moment they were sitting apart, she on her stool by her vanity table and him on her bed, enjoying the comfort of her plush mattress and soft mismatch of sheets and blankets. He had removed his tie and waistcoat, unfastened the top button of his shirt, and rolled the sleeves up to the elbows. “You have very nice arms.” She had said, and he had not known how to respond to that.

She was drinking wine, but slowly, because she knew where this night was going and she did not want anything to hinder it. Clearly not intending for her to notice, he rubbed the skin around his mask where his skin itched underneath.

“If you’d like to take it off it’s fine with me.” She said softly, eager not to push.

“Are you sure?” He asked, because it was irritating him. It was usually late at night that the skin underneath would begin to itch and sweat, needing air.

“Of course.” She said and set down her wine. Richard reached behind his ears to take off the glasses, swallowing to dry his mouth as he pulled off the mask and set it on her nightstand. He wished that awful feeling of exposure would go away.

She bit her lip, deciding if he even wanted to talk about it.

“Does it ever hurt?” She asked, because she had been wondering.

Richard shook his head. “Not really. Doctor said, hm, that I should put this serum in so the skin it doesn’t dry out. Ran out.” He said. “So it itches a little.”

She cocked her head to the side in consideration. “Well, a little Palmer’s oil would probably do.” Hopping up from her stool, she bent down to take a little gold tin out of the cupboard in her vanity, her skirt rode up the back of her thighs, he noticed.

“What is that?” He asked as she made her way over to him.

“I put it on my skin to make it soft.”

So that’s what that was, he thought, that was why whenever he’d run his fingers across her face or down her arms it felt like touching satin. Ada got on the bed, kneeling beside him, and scooped some of the serum onto her middle finger and held it out to him, close enough to his face that he could smell it.

“Here.” It took him a long moment to realise that she was offering to apply it herself, and that she of course saw no problem with this. It gave him pause, because no one other than himself, doctors and nurses had touched that side of his face since it happened, and it was one thing for her to see it and another for her to get so familiar with it.

“Can I?” He watched her thick lips move when she spoke, the slight pout on them. Had anyone ever said no to that?

“Alright.” He said eventually, feeling a bit tense. His body went tenser still when she climbed onto his lap, straddling his body with her legs. She smiled down at him so he could not help but smile back, and stuck two fingers in the pot.

When she leaned over to set the pot down beside his mask, he reflexively put his hands on her thighs, and couldn’t help but watch her breasts move when she repositioned herself on him. She smeared the cream gently into the scarring of his cheek, brow furrowed and worried about hurting him, it was hard to believe the raw skin there couldn’t hurt. If it did, he did not let on.

She rubbed it small, gentle circles, across his cheekbone, and up to just below the empty socket of his eye. Although she would not tell him, it almost felt as if she had to do this: to be this close with his injury and familiar enough with it that it would never shock her to see it again. She smoothed the cream up over his quite intact eyebrow, save for the scar above it, and the deep scar that reached up to his ear.

His eye had fallen closed, and his thumbs drew lazy circles on the skin of her thighs. That feeling, paired with the sensation of his solid body underneath her was proving distracting; her ears and cheeks felt hot, and the desire to grind her increasingly aching lower half against him was becoming overwhelming. She felt herself not watching what her fingers were doing, and instead admiring the slope his jaw as he leaned back his head.

Underneath her, Richard was focussing on the feeling of her touch on his skin, which was giving him goosebumps and making him have to try very hard not to get hard under her.

“Richard.” She said and her voice came out shakier than she had hoped.

Richard opened his eye and looked at her, and there was barely a split second before they both went in for a kiss at the same time, deep and heated. Her fingers immediately went into his hair, and he squeezed the soft flesh of her ample thighs.The pot of oil fell to the ground.

“Mmm.” She hummed a moan into his mouth, and he sat up more fully to put his tongue past her lips and run his hands up her sides and over her stomach. With quick, fervent hands, she got to work unfastening the buttons on his shirt, and he started kissing her neck as best he could while she did so.

Both of them breathed heavy, and now the heated connection had been made they found it hard to part. He sat forward to pull the shirt off his shoulders and toss it aside and then started to pull her dress up and over her head, bringing the slip underneath with it. When suddenly she was almost naked, apart from her underwear, and her breasts were in front of his face, heaving with panting, he had to take a steadying breath through his nose. Her lips were swollen and her eyes were glassy.

“Touch me.” She almost whispered, taking his wrists and putting his hands on her stomach. He took the initiative to run his hands up to her breasts, which hung heavy on her chest, and held them in his hands, watching her head hang back when he gently squeezed.

He was painfully hard now, and he knew she would be able to feel it. Richard ran his hands over the curve of her hips and waist, thinking she had a body like the most coveted naked photos that got passed around the bunkhouses in the army. He knew there was no way of telling her that without it sounding seedy.

They reconnected at the lips, and she was the one to reach between them and unfasten the buttons on his trousers, before slipping in her hand to palm his hardness through the cotton of his boxers. He ground against her palm automatically, groaning into her mouth. When he kissed down her neck to press the good side of his mouth against her breast and take her nipple into his lips, she moaned out his name, and reached into his boxers to touch his dick properly.

“Hm.” His growl was even raspier than usual, and he flicked his tongue over her nipple, making her jolt on his lap and grind her hot centre against him.

It was becoming too much, he had to be inside in soon lest his finish in his trousers and never be able to look her in the eye again. In a swift motion, he turned them over so she was on her back, and she let out a breathless little giggle at his strength.

When he stood off the bed to take off his suspenders and trousers properly, he watched her watch him from where she was lying on the bed, eyes half lidded, lip between her teeth. She was sure he had no idea how erotic the picture was of him watching her while he frantically took off his trousers, a few strands his now tousled hair hanging over his forehead just so. She felt herself shaking, she wondered if he was shaking too. He took of his dog tags and dropped them beside his mask.

“Can I?” He stood over her, pausing for the first time since they started with his fingers on the hem of her silky underwear.

“I might kill you if you don’t.” She breathed out a little laugh, and he did too, calming a little. He swallowed deeply before he began to pull the garment down her legs and off her feet, and tried not to leer too much at the little thatch of dark hair that had been revealed.  
His instinct was to get on his knees and bury his face between her legs, and he would, but not that night, because in that moment he swore he had never needed to be inside someone more. When he pulled his boxers somewhat self consciously down his hips, she sat up on her elbows to watch him shamelessly, and felt wetness rush between her legs when she saw his dick, pink and hard, for her.

In a second, he was back on her, settling himself between her open legs and balancing himself above her as they kissed deeply and desperately. Opening her legs wider, she reached between them and held him, urging the tip to touch her soaked entrance. Richard’s eye closed, and he swore in his throat. God, she desperately wanted to make him do that again. With a slow rock of his hips, he pushed a few inches inside her, letting her get used to the intrusion a moment before pushing in all the way, making her whimper and arch her back. He stayed frozen for a moment and rested his head in the crook of her neck, panting, until she ground up against him insistently and he started to move.

It was ever so slightly uncomfortable as she felt herself stretching to accommodate him, but the feeling ebbed away to an intense fullness, and pleasure, and as they got into a rhythm as did her moans of delight, it was the first time during sex that she thought she could cry it felt so good and intense. He was quieter, but when he did let out a groan or grunt from deep in his chest she would clench on him harder, the sound going through her so deliciously.

He was sweating as he picked up the pace, her nails scraping along his back just hard enough to make him shudder urging him on. His fingers fisted the sheets beside her head, and he started a steady rhythm that she seemed to like.

Richard touched the tip of his tongue to her neck before pushing himself up on his hands so he could angle himself better. She could feel it building deep inside her, and dug her nails into his shoulders, desperately chasing the fizzing heat that was getting ready to burst, she moved her hips in rhythm with his and whispered filthy encouragements under her breath, looking up at the sweat beading on his forehead and the loose hair moving as he thrusted into her.

“Is that good?” He asked, and, taking them both by surprise, his voice was the catalyst that made her come spectacularly, her back arching and her hips writhing, the pressured heat intense enough to shake her. It almost made him jolt when her nails dug into his back and her legs tightened round him, nearly bringing him to stop.

“ _Yes, Richard!”_ She called breathlessly, eyes tight shut at her orgasm shook through her like a freight train. Richard’s lips fell open as he watched her ride out the pleasure, and felt her clenching and unclenching on him, and feeling of her hot wetness covering him, the feeling drove him to keep fucking her through it, gilding even easier. Him not stopping just drove the feeling of her on and on, her eyes were shut tight and she almost whimpered helplessly at the intensity.

Compelled, he put a hand on the side of her face and ran his thumb over her bottom lip, which she promptly took it into her open mouth and sucked. He felt powerful in that moment, he had made her come, she was sucking his flesh into her mouth because she couldn’t get enough of him and moaning desperately.

Her breasts bouncing, the flush of her cheeks, the sounds she was making were all too much, he had to close his eye for a second because he was sure nothing had ever felt this good before. He was annoyed at himself that he wasn’t going to last longer, but he was going to come soon and was at least relieved that she already had.

His thrusts became erratic, and little grunts of satisfaction started to escape from his throat as the pleasure built into an ever tightening knot that was about to snap. When he started to feel it build, he looked at her again; her eyes were opened now. She looked like she adored him.

“Come on baby, I want to feel it.” She breathed desperately. With a particularly hard thrust, he spilled himself inside her, a deeply pleasured moan pouring out of his mouth as his body tensed.

He rested his forehead on her chest, and thrust weakly a few more times, hips acting of their own accord as he gave her every last drop he had, her gyrating hips dragging out the feeling.

There was a long moment where they were both still, panting, clinging to each other, as her pussy continued to spasm around him with aftershocks and his cock twitched. Finally, too sensitive to stay inside her, he pulled out and rolled onto his back, the two both laying the wrong way on the bed and looking at the ceiling, feeling their hearts thudding and waiting for the sound to come back to their ears.

Richard had no idea what to say, he felt like there was no way he could articulate how good and spent he felt in that moment. They both sweated and panted, he vaguely felt her reach over to touch his chest.

“God fucking damn.” Ada said for him.

That sounded about right.

The next morning, Richard awoke disoriented by the unfamiliar and much more comfortable bed, and a slight weight on his chest. It all came back to him quite quickly when he looked down at the soft, reddish-brown hair on him and felt Ada’s steady breaths on his skin. As always, his mind searched for something wrong, something to be off about the situation that would make him have to leave, but one did not come. All that he noticed was the sound of the ocean waves across the way, the the gulls, and the fact he could not remember the last time he had woken up feeling so relaxed.  
Clearly, whatever had awoken him struck her too, and she made a small noise of half sleep and half awake her throat, before opening her eyes and looking up at him, chin on his chest. Her eyes were bleary, and her lips poutier first thing in the morning.

She smiled at him, as she always did, and he had to feel his fingers in her hair. Tucking a few strands behind her ears, he let his fingers just touch the lobe for a second, she was so soft everywhere.

“I must still be dreaming.” He said, feeling her shuffle on him and being reminded that they were both very naked.

“What a line.” She giggled, and leaned in and kissed him anyway. His throat was very dry, it always was in the morning on account of half his mouth being open all night. “Sorry, is my breath disgusting?”

“No.” He shook his head, and she smoothed some strands of hair off his forehead. She looked at him with adoration, he thought, this woman adored him.

“Did you have a nice time last night?” She asked and took her bottom lip in her teeth, playing coy.

“I had a very nice time.” He said, he put his hands on her bare back under the sheets. “Did you?”

“I certainly did.” She leaned in to kiss him again, and only pulled away as far as their noses. “I’d like to have a nice time right now.” He felt her fingertips ghosting over his stomach, and the line of hair that drifted from his belly button and down.

Richard could only watch her mischievous expression as she held his eye, and gently grabbed his gradually hardening dick, making him jump a bit, to which she giggled.

“Feels like you might want to as well, baby.” She pecked his lips again. Richard considered that for a second, ‘baby.’

“You called me that- last night too.” He said.

“I did, do you not like it? You certainly seemed to last night…”

“I like it. No one’s ever called me- that before.” His throat clicked, it occurred to him he wasn’t wearing his mask, and it did not horrify him.

“Would you prefer darling?” She raised her eyebrows teasingly.

“Gillian says ‘darling,’ so, absolutely not.” He blanched, and she laughed at that.

“Sweetheart? Honey? Daddy?” She was slowly and steadily rubbing him to hardness, taking her time about it, he let out a small hum at the feeling.

“Baby will do just fine.” He said. “Or Richard.”

Giggling softly, she placed soft little pecks over his chin and down the jawline on the injured side of his face, he breathed calmly through his nose, it was still hard not to tense at that, but her hand on his dick and her mouth moving over his throat certainly helped.

“I usually take a shower in the morning.” He joked quietly. Quickly, she sat her head up and a look of thought came across her face, and she suddenly let go of him and hopped off the bed. Feeling suddenly cold and bereft, he sat up, looking at her quite dazedly.

“You’re right, cleanliness is next to godliness.” And she made her way out of the bedroom, him sitting up in confusion and disappointment, watching the empty doorway in shock as her bare backside disappeared through it. Until she poked her head back in with her usual grin. “Unless you’d like to join me of course.”

Not even thinking about his mask, Richard got out of bed, as naked as she was, and chased her into the bathroom as she laughed, squeezing her rounded hips to make her squeal and laugh louder. She spun to face him, and kissed the smile into his mouth before pulling back to step into the tub and turn on the shower.

It was different seeing her body in the light of day, and with a clearer head. He felt somewhat odd standing around naked as the day he was born, but she didn’t seem to care at all. Not that it bothered him, not one bit, as she looked at him with her tongue in her lips and let him watch her lift her hair so the water cascaded over her breasts, the curve of her stomach and the hair between her legs. Richard swallowed deeply, he was now parched, and there was very little blood going to his head.

“Well are you going to join me or not darling?”

“Hm.” He growled at her with a warning look, before stepping over the side of the tub himself. Wasting no time, he kissed her deeply and she looped her arms round his neck, the hot water falling down his spine made him roll his shoulders.

When they were in the kitchen and she made him breakfast, he could have had her again. It was like she had turned a switch on in him, he had gone from being nervously unable to look her in the eye to having an insatiable need for her, one that she, bafflingly, seemed to return. At least they both had some clothes on, him in his boxers and undershirt and her in a light black nightie and her oriental robe.

He wanted to talk though, he felt like as much as she talked there was so much about her that he did not know, he wanted to drink in everything about her, physically, emotionally, everything. This was certainly too good to last and when it ended, he needed to be able to remember it as crisply and perfectly as it felt in the moment.

“You’ve never told me much about your family.” He said, and took a long drink of his water through the straw, she sat down adjacent to him, a thoughtful and melancholy look on her face all of a sudden. He had replaced the mask on his face, and was glad for it when she set a plate of pancakes down in front of him, a few small bites wouldn’t hurt.

“It’s not a very happy story.” She said, her voice a little small as she sipped her coffee.

“I know about unhappy stories.” He chewed his food very carefully in the covered part of his mouth.

Ada gave him a small smile, knowing he was not going to let her off on this one. She could not blame him really, she knew all about his sister, and what their parents had been like and his childhood on the farm. That had made her sad, to know that he had been happy once, and to know how differently he felt towards his sister when he came back. She knew about Jimmy, and Angela, and how much he had cared for them, and how much he cared for Tommy because of it. He had told her all that, so she would tell him about herself.

Taking a breath, she picked up a pack of cigarettes from the table and put one in her lips, lighting it.

“You know I have some bad blood with my father, you know he went to prison. Well, I was lucky I didn’t end up there myself.” That he did not expect to hear. “He ran cons. You know, shell games and whatnot, and I would help… I was quite good at it, the distraction and the fast talking, which I'm sure is an awful shock to you.”

He breathed out a laugh through his nose.

“But he got too cocky, started trying to swindle real rich people, high society types, that’s what got him caught eventually.”

“That’s why you were so angry with him.” Richard confirmed.

“It was, because I tried to tell him he was going too far, he got greedy. I had four siblings, two brothers, two sisters.” She said, taking a drag. “My sisters are both younger than me, I was the first girl.”

“Where are they now?” He asked her. She was usually the one asking all the questions.

“Joan moved to Arkansas and married a banker there, I hear she’s doing quite well but we don’t speak much, and Miranda is still in Cicero, working.” Ada had no problem talking about her sisters. “They live rather normal, happy lives, and I send them quite large checks at Christmas despite their protesting.”

“Your brothers?” He asked, preparing for her to deny answering. Briefly, she had mentioned them being in the war, but spoke nothing more about it.   
Ada swallowed deeply and took another breath, thinking about it was already making the lump form in her throat.

“They died in France, in the same battle. Michael Jr was 22 and Anthony was 23.” Her eyes began to sting badly, and she knew she was about to cry and wish she wouldn’t. “The telegram we got called them ‘true brothers in arms.’” She sniffed and felt tears roll down her cheeks. “So the US Army does have a little poeticism.”

“I’m sorry.” He put his hand on her wrist. “It was - wrong.”

He did not specify what was wrong, but she knew what he meant, the whole thing, the whole war.

“I don’t need to tell you that, or about the pain of loss.” She said and wiped her face. “But it destroyed me. My sisters were too young to understand, my dad was already in prison, my mother was dying. And I… I just gave up. I would go and stand outside the enlistment building, with my revolver in my purse, and think that one day I would just go in and put a bullet in my head in front of them all. Then they’d know what they took from me.”

He didn’t reply, she heard him swallow. “I’m sorry, I know that’s terrible, to want to die.”

“I…” Richard, squeezed her wrist gently. There was no going back if he told her this, he knew it, but increasingly he wanted to tell her everything, he got the feeling he could confess his worst sins and she would absolve him. Church had never really worked for him, but maybe he had found some such equivalence in her. He took her hand on the table.

“I went into the woods a while ago, a ways away, before I knew you. I took a lunch, and my shotgun, and enjoyed the quiet for a while. And,” he paused and his throat clicked, he was looking at her arm and not her face. “I lay down and- put the barrel of the gun in my mouth.”

He heard her shaky breath and looked at her, watched tears roll down her cheeks.

“I couldn’t take another day of - this.” He gestured to his face with his freehand. “Of not being a real person. Of having children cry when they see me and people treating me like - I’m simple, thinking no woman would never want me around.”

“What stopped you?” She asked him quietly, he still wasn’t looking in her face.

“A dog.” He said, shaking his head at how silly it seemed in hindsight. “Didn’t seem right to, hm, do that in front of a dog. And it took my mask.”

She nodded, and sniffled.

“I thought I still needed it, so I guess - I didn’t really want to die that day.” He had never said it aloud, he had barely even thought it through too thoroughly since it happened. “And I ran into these men, hunters, one of them said, ‘these woods are for living.’ He was right.”

When he finished and looked up at her, he saw her quickly wiping tears of her cheeks.

“I’m glad you didn’t.” She said quietly, and he believed her. “I’m so sorry you felt that way, you don’t deserve it.”

That was where he thought differently. He looked her dead in the eye and turned her hand over in his on the table, noticed the curtain blowing in the warm breeze.

“You don’t know that.” He shook his head.

“I do.” She said, and wiped her face again. “You’re a good man Richard, I don’t care about anything else, I know that to be true.”

Although she had no way of knowing, that sentence made him feel like she was squeezing his heart in her palm. In his mind’s eye, or maybe in the one he lost in France, he could see a picture reel of all the blood he had ever spilled, and every life he had ever ended, and he wondered if she would hate him as much as she should if she could see it.

“I’ve killed.” He said, as simply as that.   
  
“In the war.” She nodded.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve killed after as well.”

“Oh…” He watched her pale a little bit, but she did not let go of his hand, he knew he could be smashing this whole thing to pieces himself, but he would not go on in deceit. Steeling himself, Richard went on.

“The man who shot Angela Darmody. I, went to his house, shot him in the head with a shotgun.” He said. “Very close.”

Her throat moved when she swallowed, before taking another long drag on her cigarette.

“What about the man who shot Jimmy?” She asked, Jimmy she knew about quite well.   
  
“Jimmy was a soldier who lost his battle. Angela never joined up to be in any fight, never did anything wrong. She was a good woman, a good mother.” He said, thinking about how unfazed she had been to welcome him into her home, and how long it had taken to clean her blood from the oak.

She nodded in understanding, and stubbed out her cigarette, it was only making her feel sick at that point.

“And, I wish it were the worst thing I’ve done, but it’s not.” He said, shaking his head again. “I’ve killed other people since I got back.”

“Bad people?” She asked, with some hope in her tone, the idea of him killing innocents was too difficult to bear.

“Yes, but, I don’t get to decide that.” He looked down at their hands, amazed she was still touching him and had not yet told him to leave.

There was a long moment of quiet, where she let herself listen to the sound of the ocean and the birds, and feel the breeze move over the back of her neck. His friendship with Jimmy Darmody, what she knew about him, and the fact of his residence had of course made her think he may have been involved in some shady business. But the reality of it was slapping her in the face, and of course it stung.

But she was waiting for herself to feel differently towards him, and it just was not coming, nothing changed in her heart, little changed in her head.

“Do you still think I’m a good man?” He asked finally.

Ada considered him a moment, and wondered if she was like one of those women who marries a gangster and pretends she has no idea what he is doing. How much could she accept? Would he ever test those limits?  
  
“Us artistic types don’t really think in ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ to be honest. I think a person can be one and do another. I think the war changed you, of course it did, in every way. But truly, in your heart, I think your heart is good.” She said and squeezed his hand so he would look at her. “I don’t think you could tell me anything that would make me think less of you.”

The squeeze in his heart did not feel any better, but it was different, he had told her, she had accepted it. He wanted to thank her, but he could not find the words, he also wanted to tell her that she was making a mistake, but in that moment he wanted to be selfish, he wanted to just accept whatever she could give him.   
  
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” She admitted, her voice quiet. “Truly, never.”

“Me neither.” He said, because it was true. “I- didn’t think I could.”

Standing, and biting back more tears she crossed over to sit on his lap, looping her arms round the back of his neck.

“Neither of us have had a very nice time of it have we?” She joked slightly with a wan smile. “It could be foolish of me to trust you this much. But I don’t care, I do, I trust you with all my heart actually.”

Richard put his hand on her cheek and touched her bottom lip with his thumb. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Ada. I’d never let anyone else hurt you either.” That he could say with absolute surety. “I swear.”

“I know.” She said, and rested a kiss on his forehead, before pulling his head onto her chest. “I’d never let anyone hurt you either. Never again.”

Richard held her there and breathed in the smell of her nightdress, and listened to her heart thud in her chest, and believed her. He closed his eye and try to let his mind rest for a moment after what they had just told each other.

“You wanna take Tommy to the boardwalk today? Get some air?” He asked finally, muffled.

The change of tone almost made her laugh, blinking away the last of the tears in her eyes and pulling back to look down at him.  
  
“That sounds really nice.” She smiled, and kissed his lips. “If two people in the world ever needed a god damn walk…” 

 


End file.
